


Way We Go Down

by samwise_baggins, Steve-Bucky-Stucky (Chemical30)



Series: Those Magic Changes [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Deadpool - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Character Death, Detective Sam Wilson, Detective Steve Rogers, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Journalist Bucky, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Riley is still alive, Sicko Brock Rumlow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 123,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7526473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwise_baggins/pseuds/samwise_baggins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chemical30/pseuds/Steve-Bucky-Stucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky and Steve are forced to face their demons. With Rumlow on the loose and Fisk taking out all those who oppose him . . . no one is safe.</p>
<p>Sequel to "Ghosts from the Past"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> **This story is the sequel to "Ghosts from the Past"**  
>  http://archiveofourown.org/works/6837565/chapters/15607141

Bucky sighed and nodded, listening to Nat as she continued to tell him what would be expected of him at the wedding rehearsal . . . again. He lifted the water glass carefully to his lips, feeling the iced condensation soak the fingers of his still slightly numb right hand. Using his free left hand, newly acquired in the last month due to his roommate Tony Stark, Bucky pushed the metal fingers through his short, moussed hair and nodded again, murmuring softly, “Five.”

Nat stopped abruptly mid-sentence, her eyes narrowed, annoyed from being interrupted, “Excuse me? Five what?”

He sighed and shrugged lightly, not spilling his drink this time, at least. “Five times since last night you’ve told me this, Nat. I got it. I promise, doll.”

The redhead smiled softly and let out a small sigh, “Sorry, Buck. I just want everything to be perfect.”

“Yeah,” he nodded sagely, a twinkle playing in his blue-grey eyes. “And if Clint showed up in burlap and you in a rag, and we were the only ones, and the priest threw rice at the cat, it’d still be perfect because you’d be married. So, relax!”

Laughing, Nat realized that her friend was right, “Yeah, yeah. I get it. I just want you prepared for tomorrow. I know you just got back - -”

Carefully, Bucky touched her cheek with the still unfamiliar, yet vastly more versatile, prosthetic. “Look, Nat. He loves you as much as you love him. The rest is just icing on the wedding cake.” He offered a smile very near the one he’d lost almost a year ago.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Natasha grinned, smiling at her Man of Honor.

“Really?” He tilted his head with a small laugh, a bit raspy from long disuse. “Let’s see, in university you pulled me, vomit-covered and drunk, from an alley and offered me a shower, clean bed, and a nice coffee and vodka breakfast to get over the hangover.” He shrugged carefully again. “What can I say, doll? I’m hooked for life.”

“You sure you’re okay for tomorrow? You’ll be here at ten o’clock sharp right?” 

Lifting the glass in his untrustworthy right hand, Bucky saluted the bride. “Ten shark . . .“ he teased, referring to her drunken slurs on her bachelorette party night, when he’d had to pull her back in through the limousine sun roof in Vegas.

Rolling her eyes and playfully hitting his left bicep, she said, “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you alone. Go mingle or something.” 

“Now?” He carefully maneuvered his drink to his left hand and brought his right wrist up, twisting to check his watch face. “We’ve got three minutes until curtain, Nat.”

Nat groaned, not realizing it had been almost time to start. “Shit. I gotta go find Clint. Hopefully he remembered his hearing aids.”

Shaking his head, Bucky placed the glass down on the nearby open bar, more confident with the prosthetic than his flesh hand. “No, you need to get ready to pretend to walk down the aisle to the turtle song, come on,” and he put both hands on her to push her towards the back of the room set up to imitate the service area. “Sam will take care of Clint, who should already be at the mock altar.”

Natasha scoffed, “Like I can trust . . . wait, turtle song?”

Grin spreading mischievously at her pause, Bucky began to sing softly in his slightly raspy voice, which had never fully recovered from the torn vocal cords during his attack. “Here comes the bride . . . all dressed in white . . . down comes her girdle . . . up pops a turtle . . .” he leered and waggled his eyebrows at the very suggestive image of a turtle peeking out of it’s shell.

“Oh my God! Bucky!” Natasha laughed, happy that her best friend was joking and smiling again. “What did I do to _deserve_ you?” 

“Deserve me? Thought I told ya, doll,” Bucky laughed softly again. “You had the gall to drag a strange drunk into your home and let him take over your couch for three years.”

“If I ever get a time machine, that is the first thing I’m changing!” Nat joked, her tone light, and she felt the stress leave her body. 

Smirking, Bucky whispered suggestively, “Why? Letting me take over your bed, instead?”

The sound of a chiming alarm clock alerted everyone to get in their places for rehearsal. Bucky turned to her. “Okay, got the fake bouquet?”

The woman looked around the room, before spotting the flowers sitting on the counter. Scooping them up and holding them out in front of her, she said, “Okay, I’m ready.”

With a firm nod, Bucky sounded serious when he asked, “And what do you do when the priest asks if anyone wants to deny the wedding?”

“Shoot them down, of course!” Nat shot back without any hesitation, her face completely flat.

He let his head fall back and his rich, raspy laugh rang out, drawing much attention from anyone within hearing distance, including a glance from Clint in the other room. “Well, I was thinking stab them with the knife in your sleeve, but that’s good, too.” Bucky winked and offered his right arm to her. “Ready to strut, doll?”

Linking her left arm with her best friend’s, she nodded once. “As long as you’ll be here to walk me down the aisle.” She murmured, her tone laced with all the emotion that she felt.

His hand only shook slightly as he laced his fingers through hers and offered a gentle smile, honored that not only had she asked him to be her ‘maid’ of honor, but to give her away as well. “Any time, for you, sweetheart,” and he leaned close to kiss her forehead.

Shortly the pair walked sedately down the aisle to the tune of Pomp and Circumstance, not the traditional Wedding March Bucky had made fun of. He stopped with her at Clint’s side and waited for the priest to ask “And who gives the bride away?”

Bucky paused, and Clint turned with a frown, checking his hearing aid to make sure he hadn’t missed the reply Bucky was supposed to give. But the former officer hadn’t missed anything, because Bucky suddenly said “Nah, I’m keeping her,” and started turning her back to the aisle. Clint’s jaw dropped open in shock, his blue eyes confused.

*************

Steve cursed under his breath as he stared at his reflection, he could not get his tie straight. 

With a roll of his expressive brown eyes, Sam turned and watched his partner struggle for a few more minutes before huffing, “You’ll crease the silk, Steve, let me do it!” Because they had come together in the same vehicle, Steve had been forced to get ready at the church instead of at home, so Sam would be there, as best man. Fortunately, Clint didn’t seem to need help slipping into his trousers at the moment, much to Steve’s relief and Sam’s apparent agreement.

The blond huffed and turned around, facing his best friend. He shrugged in exasperation and groaned a tight, “Fine.”

Nodding, as if satisfied, the detective reached out, smoothed the silk, and quickly tied the cloth into the proper knot. He didn’t adjust it because this time it remained straight. “Now leave it alone, Steve, or you’ll wreck it again.” Sam turned back to the man he was actually there to help, beginning to work on Clint’s tie in the same way.

Steve returned his gaze back to the mirror in front of him. Dark circles stood out under his eyes, having gotten little sleep over the last few days, but that wasn’t the reason he felt on edge. He knew he would see Bucky again today for the first time in nine months, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for it. The detective didn’t know how things would go when the two saw each other. Would it be awkward? Would Bucky just ignore him?

Finally, Clint took a deep breath as Sam stepped back. He turned to Steve and smiled, his eyes nervous. “I swear, if Bucky pulls the same stunt he did last night, I’m gonna shoot him,” he growled, but made no explanation of just what Bucky had done or how bad it had been.

Sam nodded, solemn looking. “Don’t really blame you but be nice. He’s been out of circulation for awhile.”

Clint snorted. “Fuck that. It’s my wedding. He said he could control himself, so he better.” Obviously, Clint’s nerves did most of the talking.

“Clint! Ease up, man.” Steve snapped, not able to listen to someone talk about his ex-boyfriend like that.

“Ease up?” Clint turned to his friend looking stunned. “He said he wouldn’t let me marry Tasha! I couldn’t get through to him! Sometimes I wonder if he hates me, even!” He wailed in apparent nervous misery.

“I’m sure he was only kidding.” Steve defended, trying to get the groom to calm down, “Ya’ know how Bucky can be. I’m sure he’ll be on his best behavior today.”

Sam put a hand on Clint’s shoulder and nodded. “Just because he hasn’t seen her in a few months, he kind of let go, you know? He’ll be cool this time. I’m sure of it, Clint, just take a deep breath . . .”

Swinging around to Riley, his second groomsman, Clint whimpered, “Riley? If he tries to pull that again, let me kill him?” As Nat had wanted Bucky in her wedding party, she’d gently asked Clint _not_ to ask Steve to stand up with him . . . a message Clint had carefully relayed to his good friend.

Riley chuckled, finding the whole conversation mildly amusing. “I cannot, in good conscience, let you kill my patient. Sorry, pal.” 

With another whimper, Clint buried his face in his hands. “What did I ever do to deserve _him_ in my wedding party?” he moaned.

“You married his best friend.” Riley laughed, “Who did you think she’d ask as her Man of Honor?”

“Not yet, I haven’t,” Clint’s face shot up, desperation crossing his features. “And that’s the problem. If he refuses to let the wedding happen, for whatever reason he want’s to come up with against me this time, I’m doomed!”

Reaching out to soothingly pat Clint’s shoulder, Steve said, “He won’t do anything to stop the wedding. He actually likes you, whether you know it or not.”

Sighing heavily, Clint muttered, “you don’t understand. I have to marry Tasha! I love her and she’s pregnant and I need to have her . . .”

“Wait,” Steve cut off the near-hysterical groom, “Nat’s pregnant?” 

Sam lifted his brows in surprise, glancing at his boyfriend, Riley, and mouthing “did you know?”

Riley shrugged, not committing to giving a definite answer. 

Clint moaned low and stumbled to a chair. “I need a drink . . .”

***********

“Buck. You are sure the caterer is here?” Nat asked as she winced slightly when Sharon accidently pulled too tight on her hair. 

Walking around the corner, tie hanging loose around his neck, because he refused to wear a stupid clip-on, Bucky nodded. “Saw to it myself, Nat,” he said quietly. He looked down and tried once more to get his prosthetic and his damaged right hand to work together to fasten his deep maroon cumurbund, his dove grey jacket hanging alone in the closet of the room where the bride’s party had been assigned.

“And,” Nat continued, “You sure the reception area will be ready in time? When I got here they weren’t even close. What if they don’t finish?”

“You can relax, doll,” he soothed. “They were setting out the silver and napkins when I came in here.” He offered a soft, small smile, nerves radiating from his blue-grey eyes.

Nat looked at her best friend from the reflection; noting his tense demeanor her whole face softened. “Thank you, Buck. For everything. You’re the best Man of Honor anyone could’ve asked for.” 

He smiled a bit wider and ran his right hand through his hair. “Yeah? I thought I was Father of the Bride with my bossing around the hired help?” He joked softly.

The redhead winced again at another harsh tug at her head. “Yeesh, Sharon. Don’t hafta pull so hard.”

“Sorry,” Sharon mumbled through a mouth-full of bobby pins. Her grip relaxed a little, but she still pulled tight enough to accomplish the complicated braid that Natasha insisted upon. 

The Man of Honor winced as he watched Sharon’s efforts and sighed. A year ago, he could have done Nat’s hair with only a little problem due to his left arm, but now, he couldn’t hope to twists the lovely red strands . . . with his recovering right. Frowning, Bucky silently cursed the time it had taken to get this far in the long recovery - - and the man who’d put him through it. Carefully twisting his wrist to check his watch, Bucky sighed and headed over to his overnight bag, unzipping it with his left hand and beginning to rumamge inside, cumerbund fastened, crooked and twisted, and tie still loose, no jacket.

“Whatcha lookin’ for, Bucky?” Natasha asked as the brunet bent out of sight from the mirror. 

He glanced up briefly then went back to rooting through the medication bottles inside his bag. “Time for the muscle relaxant . . .” he muttered, “or the hand stiffens.” He straightened, the small bottle clasped in his metal fingers. He held the less intrusive drug he’d insisted his therapist and doctor switch him to recently, not liking how the other one had made him feel so doped up.

The redhead nodded, careful not to mess up what Sharon had done, but didn’t verbally reply. She knew Bucky felt self-conscience about having to take medication so often for everything from his, now damaged, hand to the depression that had seemed to sprout from the incident. She snapped her gaze up to Sharon, who seemed to be pushing the last of the bobby pins into her hair.

“There,” Sharon nodded, proud of what she’d done, “All finished. Time to get you into your gown.”

“Good,” Bucky responded, “now that you’ve made the princess even more beautiful than the angels, can you do me a solid and open this damn bottle for me?” He held out the pill bottle in his metallic hand. His voice held frustration.

Sharon nodded, “Of course.” She quickly opened the bottle before handing it back to the brunet.

Bucky held out his hand. “One’s enough. The bottle lies.” On the little bottle it claimed he should take three with each meal. He had systematically been trying to cut back his doses, often to his own detriment and the doctor’s annoyance.

Natasha stood up and shot Bucky a concerned glance. Deciding it wasn’t worth fighting over, she shook her head before smiling, “Alright. Bucky, you finish getting dressed and Sharon will help me with the gown.”

Sighing, Bucky looked at his best friend, misery swimming forth in his beautiful, expressive eyes. “I can’t get my fingers to curl around the silk, Nat.” He tried to shake one tablet into his trembling right hand, but dropped it and glared at the pill sitting on the carpeted floor.

Without hesitation, Nat walked over to Bucky, picking up the fallen pill on her way over, handing the pill to Sharon, and began to knot the tie. 

Sharon took the pill bottle back with a small flush and shook out two more tables. “Maybe just this once you can do what the bottle says?” she asked gently, earning a glare but no protest from Bucky. He held out his left hand for the pills.

Finishing with the tie, Nat looked down and noticed the crooked cummurbund wrapped around his lean hips. Without any prompt from her friend, Nat quickly untwisted the maroon fabric and set it in the right spot. “There,” she patted Bucky’s chest lovingly, “all better.”

Allowing Sharon to get him some water to down his pills, Bucky offered a smile to Nat. “Thanks, Nat. Hard to get used to being so backwards . . . again.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, careful not to mess up her makeup.

“What did I say? We are in this together.” Natasha smiled, “Now, help me with my gown.”

With Nat leaning lightly on Bucky’s metal arm, Sharon helped shimmy the white gown up the bride’s slender body. Then, the blond pulled tightly on the corset laces in the back, not tight enough to cut off any air, but snug enough so that the dress wouldn’t fall down.

Bucky reached for his jacket and proved his limited capability by successfully donning that piece of his tuxedo by himself. He closed the buttons, proudly, and beamed at his friend. “Damn, Nat. Sure I’m not allowed to keep you?” he breathed at her radiance. “I promise I’d take care of you and,” he paused with meaning before adding “any future kids.”

Natasha laughed at the comment, “No, you get to be fun Uncle Bucky that spoils them rotten and sends them back home to Clint, hyped on sugar.”

He offered his right arm to her with a chuckle, still smiling, as one of the attendants opened the door and signaled them through. Softly, he said “I’m the luckiest drunken frat boy in the world, doll.” Then the music started and Bucky flushed, realizing that everyone had probably heard his unorthodox comment. The song turned out to have been switched without warning: to The Wedding March. “Turtles,” he murmured very quietly into her ear.

Ignoring several of the odd looks that they received, Natasha turned her head and whispered before taking her first steps down the aisle, “And I wouldn’t change that night for anything in the world.”

Still whispering close, Bucky asked “not even to put me in your bed instead of that lumpy couch?”

“Especially that.” Nat scrunched her nose in mock distaste before laughing quietly.

He threw back his head and laughed that throaty, rasping sound from the night before without thinking of the audience around them, walking her steadily down the aisle towards her waiting groom and the best man. He smiled at her, squeezing her arm carefully with his prosthetic, and stopped before the priest and groom.

This time, when asked who gives away the bride, Bucky didn’t hesitate. He looked into his best friend’s eyes and calmly stated, “I do, her best friend, James Buchanan Barnes, give my sister from another mother to this man for safe keeping.” And he removed her hand from his right arm to place it in Clint’s outstretched one. Bucky smiled at the pair then moved to the Maid of Honor’s standard spot, causing a few whispers among the onlookers.

*************

Steve took in the night around him, the lights that hung above the wooden dance floor. He smiled at the sight of the bride and groom dancing happily in the center. However, his eyes kept wandering over to the bar where a certain brunet reporter stood talking with Riley and a sheepish looking brown-haired man. 

The blond had been watching Bucky on and off throughout the evening, and to say that he looked beautiful would be an understatement. The slim fitted dove-grey suit hugged the brunet’s body in all the right places, accentuating Bucky’s lean form. Unlike the buzzed hospital cut, Bucky’s hair had grown out, but it wasn’t nearly as long as it had been before: shorter on the sides and his bangs styled up and back with mousse. The blond couldn’t help but think how much younger the new haircut made Bucky look. 

Steve took a drink of his beer and watched as the brunet threw his head back and laughed at something Riley had said. 

Sam glanced over at his partner and shook his head. “You haven’t danced with Sharon once, man,” he murmured softly.

“She’s been busy with Nat,” Steve mumbled not tearing his eyes away from his ex-boyfriend. 

Staring at the blond detective with something akin to skepticism, Sam glanced towards the dance floor then back at Steve. “Funny, I thought Nat was glued to her husband all night.”

Finally turning to look at his partner, Steve threw his hands in the air. “Gimme a break here, Sam. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he was in the hospital!”

“So, talk to him, Steve. He’s been standing with Bruce and Riley half the party. He’s not dodging you.” Sam slipped a hand to the man’s wide back and shoved lightly towards the bar. “Ask to buy him a drink, if you wanna go cheesy.”

Giving his friend a sharp glare, Steve took another drink of his beer. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before walking over to where the three men were talking, doing everything in his power to appear confident.

As Steve approached, a pretty strawberry blond seemed to claim the quiet, humble looking Bruce, dragging him to the dance floor. In his stead, Tony Stark stumbled over to Bucky, raised the brunet’s right arm, as he’d done half a dozen times that night, and drank straight from Bucky’s glass of something clear. Loudly, the not so sober billionaire stated “I think your date took mine.” He paused, tilted his head then corrected “or maybe she took your’s?”

Bucky shrugged lightly and said “I’m not chained to Bruce. He’s free to dance if he wants.”

Tony nodded, looking morose, and stumbled away once more. With a shrug for Riley, Bucky turned back towards the bar with his empty glass clutched in his right hand.

Releasing a shaky breath, Steve announced himself, “Heya, Buck.”

Before he could order a new drink, Bucky heard that familiar sound of his lover’s . . . ex-lover’s voice behind him. It sent a tremble down his spine and he straightened slowly. Taking a deep breath, Bucky turned, carefully trying to school his features to hide the yearning he still felt for the other man. He’d seen Steve earlier, at the church. It had been hard not to, really, since Bucky had been standing before the crowd by Nat’s side for at least part of the ceremony. The reporter had also seen the winsome blonde sitting close beside Steve, and had recognized Sharon . . . Steve’s date had been Nat’s other bride’s maid.

Knowing Steve had merely done as Bucky had requested and moved on with his life, the brunet couldn’t find blame for the handsome blond. Instead, he felt perverse, wanting Steve for himself despite having pushed the man away. Slowly, Bucky looked up into those vibrant blue eyes and softly said “Hi, Steve.”

Steve smiled slightly, relief flushing through him when Bucky didn’t ignore him. Steve took in the sight of Bucky up close. Immediately he noticed the other man’s skin had tanned, but what really caught the detective’s attention was how much weight the brunet had lost. He’d already been slender, but up close the weight loss was more dramatic than when he’d stood at a distance in the church or by the bar. Knowing that he was staring at Bucky, Steve cleared his throat, “Y-you look great.”

Quirking an eyebrow in his familiar habit of disbelief, Bucky shook his head once in a small gesture. “You need glasses? I look like crap, Steve. Haven’t slept well in months without the drugs.” He let the evocative statement hang there.

“You could never look like crap.” Steve found himself stating before he could stop himself.

Rolling his blue-grey eyes, Bucky sighed softly, thinking of a time nine months ago when he had most definitely looked like crap - - at the very least. “Well, except for the overworked look you always seemed to sport, you look like yourself,” Bucky replied, inwardly wincing at how that probably came off.

“Been workin’ a lot.” Steve shrugged, “Keeping myself busy at the precinct.” He purposely left out the fact that the reason he’d been so busy was that he had been working nonstop to find Brock Rumlow.

Bucky nodded as Steve confirmed his accusation of working too hard. “Well, it seems to suit you?” Again, Bucky inwardly cringed, this time at the obvious question in his voice, the uncertainty rising in his tone. He could sense two larger bodies had walked over to the bar behind him, and the reporter had to concentrate just to stay put next to Riley and not run screaming into the night. His eyes seemed to dilate a bit, growing larger, and Bucky’s tongue darted out to lick at his lips.

Noticing the anxious behavior, Steve, without thinking, reached out to lay a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “You okay?”

At the unexpected contact with that large, heavy hand, Bucky let out a whimper. He couldn’t help it. Drawing a shaking breath, he tried to regain control, but his hand began trembling and the glass slipped through his fingers. As it shattered on the ground, Bucky whimpered a bit more loudly and began to sway, as if struggling with whether to move or not. He made small keening noises deep in his throat, but never removed his eyes from Steve’s face.

“You’re okay, Bucky.” Riley called out in a soothing tone, but not reaching out to actually touch him, “You’re safe. You’re okay.”

Tearing his eyes from Steve’s, Bucky looked at Riley and whimpered again, as if he tried to speak but couldn’t figure out how to. He entire arm had begun to shake by then.

“Alright,” Riley nodded once; slowly he reached over and put a gentle hand on Bucky’s left arm. “C’mon, Buck. Let’s go to the bathroom.” 

Nodding once, eyes latching onto Riley’s, Bucky suddenly lunged and pressed into his therapist. He buried his face in Riley’s neck without moving his hands in any way. “Help,” he whispered brokenly.

Without saying any more, Riley rubbed soothing circles on Bucky’s back, trying to get the smaller man to control his breathing. With a slight, gentle push he ushered Bucky away from the bar.

Bucky obeyed Riley’s movements, willingly going with this man he trusted far from the strangers who’d been behind him.

“Hey, what happened to my boyfriend?” Tony’s voice rang out from behind Steve, sounding slurred and indignant. He tapped Steve’s shoulder and growled drunkenly, “You dick, what’d you do to my Bucky-boy?”

Whirling around to face Stark, Steve snarled, “ _I_ didn’t do anything. If you were really his _boyfriend_ you shoulda been here with him.”

“Don’t believe it. You make him cry all the time, so why’d be diff’rent now?” He pointed out in drunken logic, conveniently latching onto only the first part of Steve’s words.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, confused and very hurt from the new information, “How would you know that?”

Tony snorted and downed his drink, using the hand curled around his wineglass to poke Steve’s massive chest. “Cause he lives with me, doesn’t he? I hear him at night, crying in bed, over you, dickhead . . . Steve . . . Steve . . . never says nothin’ else but your stupid name, but ain’t that enough?”

At the familiar insult Steve grabbed the front of Tony’s dress shirt, “What did you call me?!” He growled, shaking the billionaire roughly.

“Hey!” Tony tried to pry one of Steve’s hand off but gave up quickly enough. “‘S a five thousand dollar suit, buddy. Lay off the goods!” He tried to drink from his empty glass and frowned into it with a sigh. “Man, if I could buy his heart, I’d have done it. ‘Stead, I get a bed full of Bucky and no heart to go with that pretty face.” He sighed again.

Steve let go of Tony’s shirt, almost as if the fabric burned him. Tony smoothed the jacket down awkwardly with his full hand, as Steve growled, “Bucky can’t be _bought_ , out of everyone here, _he’s_ the one that deserves real love.” 

Tony snorted loudly. “Had it, didn’t he? Then you shit all over him, dickhead.” Tony looked towards the bar and began sidling over that way. “I buy him whatever he wants. Gave him a new arm and everything, just for my Bucky-boy. Hey, barkeep!” He seemed very intent on a refill.

Seeing white, Steve grabbed the back of Tony’s collar and pulled the smaller man back roughly.

Suddenly two sets of strong hands wrapped around Steve, tugging him back, heaving against him. “No, man, let him go!” Clint’s voice dragged in his ear, followed by Sam’s curt “Rogers, drop the jerk now!”

Shoving his hands outward to push Tony away from him, Steve then wrenched himself away from his friends’ grasp and stormed away. He needed to be somewhere quiet, somewhere away from Tony Stark. The blond went back inside and opened the first door on his right, just wanting to take a moment to calm down. 

The sight in front of him made the detective stop dead in his tracks. First he saw Riley sitting in a chair, his head resting between his hands. Then Steve’s blue-eyes trailed over to where Bucky sat cross-legged on the floor. The maroon tie and cummerbund laid discarded on the floor next to the brunet. Several of the buttons on Bucky’s maroon dress shirt were opened and his grey tuxedo jacket lay folded over the back of Riley’s chair. 

Bucky’s eyes remained closed and he breathed slowly in then out, making soft, deep noises as he breathed. He didn’t respond to the sound of the footsteps, trusting Riley, his current protector, to interfere and take care of him. So, he remained meditating, concentrating on his mental safe list.

Riley looked over to Steve and simply pressed his index finger to his lips. He slowly stood back up and ushered the confused blond out of the room, leaving the door open just a crack as they stepped into the hallway. “He’s mediating. Helps him calm down.” Riley whispered.

Steve nodded and arched his neck to look back into the room. “Is he okay? I-I didn’t mean to upset him.” 

“It wasn’t you, Steve. I’d tell you if it was, probably knock you on your ass, too.” Riley joked trying to lighten the mood.

“How the hell,” Steve lowered his voice, not wanting Bucky to hear what he was about to say, “is Bucky putting up . . . sleeping with that arrogant son of a bitch?”

Shrugging, Riley denied Steve a straightforward answer. Not wanting to breach any privacy that Bucky entrusted him with.

Softly, the door rustled open and Bucky’s hoarse rasp drifted out to the pair. “Riley? Is that Steve with you?” He sounded tired but calm and curious, not cold or withdrawn like at the party outside in that large crowd.

Riley gave Steve a calculating look before answering his friend. “Yeah, Buck. He’s here.”

“If you want, Steve, come on in.” Bucky hesitated then added, “but leave the door open?” He moved back to where he’d been seated, this time kicking his shoes off to join his other restrictive clothing.

Steve gave Riley a thankful nod; the ex-paratrooper nodded back, “I’ll be right outside if ya’ need me.” 

“Thanks,” Bucky called with real gratitude in his voice. “I don’t know if I’ll need you, so it’s good you’re near me.” He crossed his legs and drew a breath, watching the door for the sight of his former lover.

Steve pushed the door open and crossed the room. Not sure what to do or say, he simply sat down across from the brunet, crossing his legs underneath him. 

Bucky offered a small smile, not reaching his eyes. “Hi, Steve,” he repeated his greeting from earlier, as if starting all over again.

“Heya, Buck.” Steve smiled in return, “You okay?”

With a slight nod, Bucky drew a steady breath and let it out, still in his meditative practice to keep his calm with the larger man, his once friend and lover. “Yes, sometimes. I,” he paused then added, clarifying his earlier comment from outside, “I don’t sleep well without medication because of the nightmares. But I’m a lot better than . . . before.” He studied the blond and asked “have you been working too hard? You look exhausted . . . like always, actually.” Bucky had determined the best way to handle Steve was to begin all over again, ignoring their meeting in that overwhelming crowd. He should have just ditched right after the ceremony, like Nat offered.

“Working really hard to get . . .” Steve snapped his mouth shut, afraid to continue, not wanting to trigger another episode. 

Bucky nodded as if he understood. “I can talk about it, sometimes, Steve. You can try. If my breathing gets weird or my hand shakes, stop, okay?” It felt odd sharing a couple of his more obvious tells, but Riley had managed to convince him that others wouldn’t know how to help him without his advice first. It made sense to the reporter, so he tried to practice that now.

Nodding thoughtfully, “I wanna get him, Buck. I want you to be safe.” Steve paused, “I won’t stop until he’s dead or behind bars.”

Eyes widening, but staying his normal blue-grey, Bucky drew in a single breath, held it then let it out slowly. “You . . . you don’t have to kill yourself trying, Steve. But,” he added quickly, “I appreciate that you’re worried about me . . . that you wanna help me?” He sighed and drew another breath, the air shaking slightly. “So,” Bucky changed the subject himself, “I see you’re here with Sharon Carter? She’s nice. An FBI agent, right?”

Steve chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, a small blush rising into his cheeks. “Uh . . . yeah. She’s - - She’s great?” The blond winced at the question in his tone, “I mean, she is really nice.”

“Look good together,” Bucky said, and internally cringed at the wistfulness in his tone. “I came with Bruce, but he’s with Pepper now I think,” Bucky shrugged at the unimportant fact, just throwing it out there to be talking to Steve.

“With Bruce, huh?” Steve snorted, “Tony Stark said you were his Bucky-Boy.” 

“God, he actually used that stupid pet name? I told him not in public.” Bucky sighed and shook his head.

“Heard you’re livin’ with him?” Steve couldn’t stop his curiosity from asking all these questions about Bucky and Tony. 

The reporter nodded and shrugged again. “When I came back from Becca’s I needed a place to live. He let me stay there while he designed my new arm.” Bucky lifted his left arm and let his fingers clench, the plates sliding smoothly with a gentle whir. “Once he gave it to me, I needed to learn to use it, so yeah. I live in Tony’s tower with him.”

“That’s amazing, Buck.” Steve eyed the metal arm happily, “A lot more useful than the other one.” The blond’s eyes widened as he realized what he had just said, “God . . . Bucky, I’m sorry I didn’t mean - -”

Bucky offered a soft smirk. “It’s true. This one’s lighter and more versatile. Tony offered to build in whatever attachments I wanted, but I turned him down for anything not normally in a hand.” He let the hand relax again. “Only problem is I get headaches sometimes from concentrating so hard. Tony says I should just let it happen, let the arm do it’s thing, let the interface and the neural-simulators take control, but I guess I’m fighting that idea. Sometimes he calls my his favorite cyborg . . . so I hit him with my hand.”

“I’m sure it’s a lot to get use to.” Steve mused, ignoring the last line. “Look, Bucky. I wanna try this again.”

Tilting his head, Bucky studied Steve. “Try this again?”

Groaning, he’d never been very good at this sort of thing, Steve continued to explain. “I wanna be friends. I’ll go at whatever pace is comfortable for you. It’s up to you, of course. If you never wanna see me again, I’ll understand - -”

Silently Bucky listened to Steve stumbling through his offer before finally taking pity on the man. “Shut up.”

Steve snapped his mouth closed and watched Bucky with hopeful eyes. 

“Huh,” Bucky nearly grunted in surprise. He offered a gentle, shy smile. “So, you wanna take me to coffee while we pick each other’s brains on the latest . . . movie or something?” He’d nearly said crime story, but felt that was too touchy a subject yet.

Steve beamed, his chest welling in happiness. “Sure thing, Buck. I’ll take ya’ to the movies.”

Lifting his right hand, the broken bones long healed but the damaged tendons taking longer, Bucky said. “Not _go_ to the movies, Steve. I can’t . . . I can’t do the dark at all any more.” He drew in a breath and his raised hand began to tremble. He quickly lowered the limb to his lap, hiding it below the metal one. “Even shutting my eyes bothers me,” he murmured and sobbed slightly.

“Then we won’t go to the movies,” Steve amended, trying to keep calm. How did he manage to screw things up again? “Don’t worry about it, Buck. We’ll do whatever you want.”

Slowly trying to breath, Bucky said softly. “Tell me I’m safe, Steve? Mean it . . . I need to be safe . . .” His voice broke in another sobbing tremor.

Steve fought the urge to envelope the trembling man in his arms, “You’re safe, Bucky. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

“Not on purpose . . . “ Bucky responded then called “Riley! I wanna go home!” His hand shook in his lap.

Riley was in the room within seconds, shooting Steve a confused, almost angry look before crouching down beside the brunet. “Alright, Buck. Let’s go.”

Bucky threw himself into Riley’s arms and buried his face in his therapist’s neck, breathing deeply. He nodded after a moment, and eased back, shaking as he stood up. He ignored his discarded shoes and other clothing and clutched at Riley, his sanity felt like it depended on the familiar, gentle, safe contact. He knew therapists weren’t supposed to let their patient’s touch, but Riley had seemed to know Bucky needed tactile reassurance, and had allowed this unusual bond to flourish. The reporter only hoped that someday he could transfer his need for Riley’s calm scent and touch to another person . . . a possible lover even. Almost too softly to hear, Bucky whispered “See you for coffee, Steve.” Then he left the room, draped against Riley.

Steve watched helplessly as the two men left. His heart ached from having witnessed Bucky have two panic attacks. He called out to the now empty room, “Yeah, I’ll see you then.”


	2. Phone Numbers and Coffee Dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee date goes horribly wrong.

Sighing, Steve turned his head and glanced at the clock by his bed. Five fourty-five. The blond detective let out a loud groan as he sat up, giving up on getting any sleep that night. His brain went a mile a minute and he just couldn’t get Bucky out of his head. Less than a year ago, he would’ve been the one to comfort the brunet; he would’ve been the one to wrap his arms around his trembling shoulders, whispering words of comfort in an effort to calm him down. Brock Rumlow had taken that from him. ‘ _Well_ ,’ Steve thought bitterly, ‘ _it wasn’t entirely Rumlow’s fault, I’d managed to screw up the relationship by suspecting the man I loved of being a serial killer_.‘

And there is was again. He had loved Bucky. He had loved Bucky with all his heart and soul, and he’d sabotaged any chance of getting back together with him. Steve shook his head and rested his forehead in his hands. He was with Sharon now, the blond FBI agent who had been patient and understanding throughout this entire ordeal. Even last night, she wasn’t too upset that he’d ditched her to be with Bucky, she had understood that Steve needed to talk to him, that he had needed to see how the brunet had been recovering. She didn’t even raise her voice when Steve had canceled their plans for today, he had promised to take her to dinner and a movie, claiming that he needed time to himself - - he needed time to think.

Just the thought of sitting in a dark theater after seeing Bucky’s strong reaction to the mere suggestion of it made Steve’s stomach churn. He found himself wondering, not for the first time today, how Bucky was doing. Had he been able to fall asleep? Had Riley been able to get him home safely and calm him down? Did he have nightmares that woke him up screaming as they’d done nine months ago?

Tony Stark’s words kept replaying over and over again in his mind. ‘ _I hear him at night, crying in bed, over you, dickhead . . . Steve . . . Steve . . . never says nothin’ else but your stupid name, but ain’t that enough?_ ’

Was Bucky actually crying out his name every single night? Did he damage the journalist enough to bring him to tears? Steve took a deep breath; he needed to stop thinking about Bucky. Once he started he just couldn’t stop, all the pain and torture he had been through displayed in those expressive pale-blue eyes. Steve knew Bucky tried to get better, tried to put on a show for those around him, but Steve saw through it. Steve knew just how bad Bucky hurt.

Growling, Steve threw the covers off his body and stomped into the bathroom. He needed a shower. Under the hot stream of water, Steve’s body began to relax. The tension in his shoulders seemed to alleviate a little. He took several deep breaths, in through his nose, out through his mouth, in through his nose, out through his mouth. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

When the water started to go cold, Steve stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist. Feeling his nerves settle a little, he felt like he could think rationally. Bucky had wanted to hang out with him; he had agreed to try and start over as friends. Just as friends. The blond would need to call the brunet, and a thought suddenly hit him full force. He didn’t have Bucky’s new phone number; he knew that the journalist had changed it after everything with Rumlow.

He couldn’t call Nat or Clint and ask for it since they were on their honeymoon in the Bahamas. And he wasn’t sure Riley would give up the new number, not with how Bucky and Steve’s last conversation had ended; but he knew he didn’t really have a choice. Not calling would make Bucky think that Steve didn’t want anything to do with him, and nothing was further from the truth.

Walking back into his bedroom, Steve quickly got dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a plain white t-shirt. He picked up his phone and punched in Riley’s number; after several rings Riley’s groggy voice answered, “Hello?”

Steve’s eyes widened; he’d completely forgotten how early it was. Riley had probably been busy with Bucky until late last night and probably only had gotten to bed within the last few hours. Steve cleared his throat, no turning back now, “Hey, sorry for calling this early. It’s Steve.”

“Steve?” Riley asked, sounding a little more awake. “What’s wrong? Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Everything is fine. I was actually calling to ask for a favor.” Steve winced when his voice came out shaky and sheepish.

“Oh? What favor?” Riley inquired, sounding genuinely interested. Steve was sure he heard a groggy Sam ask in the background, “Who the fuck is calling this early?”

“Well . . . uh. I was hoping you could give me Bucky’s new number. He wanted to meet up for coffee or somethin’ but we weren’t able to exchange numbers because, well, ya know . . .” Steve let his voice trail off, not sure what more to say.

Riley remained quiet for a few moments before taking a deep breath. “Steve . . . I’m - - I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. Bucky has a lot more recovery to do, he - -” Riley paused, as if thinking what to say, without giving away too much. “He is very unstable right now. The smallest things could trigger a reaction from him.”

The blond let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I know, Riley. But he said he wanted to meet up. Wouldn’t not calling him and at least trying to put an effort into him be more of a detriment? Wouldn’t that hurt him more? I wanna do what’s right by him. I can’t screw this up a second time.”

“Alright,” Riley stated, “But you have to promise me you’ll be careful. He is making progress and I will not have you setting him back. If I think you are causing him distress I will knock you on your ass, ya hear me?”

Steve let out a nervous chuckle, “Yes, of course. Thank you Riley. I mean it.”

Riley gave Steve the new number before telling Steve to get some rest and hanging up. With the number successfully added under Bucky’s name, Steve felt even more nervous than he had before. What if Bucky changed his mind? What if, after last night, Bucky decided he wanted nothing to do with him?

******************

Bucky shot up straight in bed, his chest heaving and a cold sweat clinging to his skin. His breaths came out in sobbing gasps for air. It took a few seconds before Bucky realized he lay in his bed in his room at Stark Tower. He was not in that closet; he was not at the mercy of Rumlow. He was safe . . . he was okay.

He hated how nightmares were an every night occurrence now. He hated that he couldn’t close his eyes without reliving every single detail from his capture - - every single minute, trapped and helpless, forced to do whatever that sick bastard wanted.

He ran his left hand through his hair, knowing that his right would not corporate until he took his pills. Bucky could feel how his right hand cramped, aching. Growling, the brunet shot out of the bed and made his way into the en suite bathroom. He hated his reflection in the mirror. He despised the deep purple circles that seemed to always linger under his eyes. Or how his cheekbones seemed to jut out harshly and how his collarbone stood out sharply under his skin.

With his metal hand he turned on the faucet and splashed cool water on his face. Leaning on the smooth granite countertop, Bucky let his head hang, water dripping from his hair and face. The brunet let out an anguished sob, and he barely had time to cover his mouth with his flesh hand to muffle the sound. Last thing he needed was Stark hearing that he was crying . . . again.

Bucky took deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Again. Again. Again. ‘Focus on your breathing,’ Riley’s voice rang in his ears. ‘ _That’s it. In and out. C’mon, Buck. In and out._ ’

Within a couple minutes, Bucky got his breathing in check, and he popped open that morning’s tab in his pill organizer. Filling up the small glass sitting on the counter with tap water, Bucky swallowed the handful of pills with a long sip of water.

Walking into his bedroom, Bucky pulled on a pair of sweats and a discarded blue henley and slipped his phone into the pocket of his sweats before shuffling out into the common area. Tony, like always, already sat at the breakfast bar. Head down, the black-haired inventor read something on his tablet, which he carried on him practically everywhere.

Bucky went into the kitchen and filled up a mug with the fancy coffee Stark insisted tasted better than any other coffee out there. 

“Mornin’” Bucky muttered, looking at Tony from over the brim of the mug. “You’re up awfully early for being up late last night.”

Tony smirked and looked up, “So are you. Missed all the fun last night, Barnes. Although, Pepper and Bruce were glued at the hip all evening.”

Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Serves you right. I told ya’ that having me ask Bruce as my date, just so you could test the waters with both of them, was a horrible idea. They probably figured out what you were up to and wanted to teach ya’ a lesson. You can’t keep stringing both along until you decide who you wanna be with. That’s not fair to either one of them.”

“But I like ‘em both!” Tony whined, throwing his head back in a child-like manner, “I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“Well, you should figure it - -” The sudden ringing of his phone in his pocket cut Bucky off. He quickly pulled the phone out and looked at the screen. The number looked familiar but Bucky couldn’t quite place it. “Hello?” Bucky answered curiously.

“Heya, Buck. I hope I didn’t wake you,” Steve’s voice greeted back. His tone sounded so unsure Bucky couldn’t help but smile slightly at hearing the detective’s voice.

“Oh, hey, Steve.” Bucky pretended not to notice Tony rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Nah, ya’ didn’t wake me.” The brunet grabbed his coffee and walked back into his bedroom. 

“Good,” Steve breathed a sigh of relief, “I was just wondering when your free? Ya’ know, to go out for coffee or something?”

Bucky grinned, he had felt afraid that after seeing him have not one but two panic attacks last night, Steve wouldn’t want anything to do with him. “I’m free today? Or is that too soon?”

Steve laughed.

‘ _God_ ,’ Bucky thought, ‘ _I’ve missed that laugh_.’

“No that’s perfect. Do you have a certain place in mind? We’ll go wherever you want, Buck.”

The brunet remained quiet for a moment, thinking, until he suggested, “You know _Parrah’s_ . . . that coffee shop we used to go to? The one right down the street from Nat’s place?” He wanted to go somewhere familiar, somewhere he knew like the back of his hand.

“Yeah, of course I remember it. What time do you want to meet?” Bucky heard the excitement in Steve’s tone, and it made him smile again.

“How about in an hour? Or is - -” The brunet didn’t want to come across as desperate, he didn’t want to scare Steve away.

“That’s great, Buck.” Steve cut in, not letting the journalist continue. “I’ll see you in one hour.”

Bucky hung up and immediately he felt his stomach heave. He had just agreed to go hang out with Steve Rogers; the man who hurt him beyond words, who had shattered his trust in people, the man who he’d loved - - No, Bucky snapped. He couldn’t think like that, he had to push down any feelings he had towards the blond detective. Steve was with Sharon, and even if he wasn’t Bucky knew Steve wouldn’t want to be with him in that way, not anymore. Not when Bucky was dirty, not with how damaged he was. 

He ran a shaky right hand through his hair as his hand finally regained its feeling and the cramping subsided a little. Why had he agreed to do this? Why did he insist on putting himself through all of this?

Biting his lip, Bucky considered calling Steve back and canceling, lie and say he’d forgotten about plans that he’d already committed to. Steve would understand, of course, and promise that they would reschedule. However, Bucky knew if he canceled these plans, he would never gain the courage to do it again. The brunet would become a distant memory for Steve. Steve would go on with his life, get married, maybe have kids and then he’d barely remember the name Bucky Barnes. 

Maybe he was selfish, maybe he was the most self-centered person on this Earth, because honestly he would rather die than no longer be a part of Steve Rogers’ life. 

****************

Steve hated traffic. He’d always hated traffic, even when he was a kid sitting in the passenger seat. It made him cranky, and right now it made him late. His eyes flicked over to the clock on his dash: fifteen minutes late, and the thought of Bucky sitting at a booth, alone, at Parrah’s made him slam his hands on the steering wheel and curse the car in front of him for going so slow. Finally, Steve turned onto a side street and cut the time by half that it would’ve taken him had he stayed on the main road. 

The blond detective quickly got out of his car and nearly ran into the small coffee shop. He looked around for a moment, not seeing the journalist anywhere in the shop. Steve’s heart dropped; Bucky probably thought he had stood him up. He let out a low groan while throwing his head back.

The barista tilted her head and sighed. “Yeah? Want something, handsome?”

Snapping his head back to meet the young woman, Steve shrugged, “I was supposed to meet someone here . . . but I got stuck in traffic.” He craned his neck again, hoping that he had just missed the brunet in his frantic search.

She nodded as Steve spoke then shrugged one shoulder. “What she look like?”

Still looking around, Steve muttered, “He has brown hair, uh . . . really pretty pale-blue eyes. A little shorter than me, but not by much. Oh - -” Steve blushed, realizing he’d just called Bucky’s eyes pretty. 

“Yeah, the looker with the sad eyes? He’s here.” She tapped her purple and black polished nails. “Wanna order somethin’?”

“He is? Where?” Steve asked, completely oblivious to the last part of her question. 

Suddenly the barista frowned and crossed her arms, giving Steve a once over and a disgusted frown. “Hey, no sex in the bathrooms!”

Scoffing, Steve rolled his eyes and made his way over to the bathrooms towards the back of the building. The blond raised his fist but stopped before his hand made contact. ‘ _Stupid move, Rogers. You're gonna scare him away if he's not allowed to go pee without you hounding him_ ,’ Steve thought bitterly.

The door swung open, knocking into Steve as it did so. Bucky, looking startled said, “Whoa! Oh, sorry . . .” He flushed. “Uh . . . I’ll go sit in the booth?” He sidled around Steve, leaving him near the bathroom, and made his hurried way to a booth in the brightest section of the coffee shop, his back to a wall. He felt a bit awkward that Steve had wanted the bathroom, and the brunet had appeared to be hogging it.

Steve wanted to smack himself for being so stupid. Instead, nodding once, the blond made his way to the front of the restaurant and got in line. He quickly ordered two coffees and a small pastry to share; he tried to ignore the barista’s smirk but he couldn’t stop the blush that seemed to creep up his neck and into the tip of his ears.

As she gave him his small order, she shook her head. “So, if you’re paying, you’re starving your boyfriend, detective.” She grinned. “But, if he’s paying, I can see he looks pretty hard up for the ready, right?” She pushed the pastry on its plate towards Steve then set out the coffees. “But, hey, your date, your call, right, handsome?”

The blond grabbed the plate and the two drinks before mumbling, “Thanks.” He turned away and walked over to where Bucky currently sat with two hot coffees and a plate of three pastries; the reporter looked up and laughed softly upon seeing Steve’s offerings.

Steve blushed, “Sorry . . . I - - I didn’t know you had already ordered.” 

Bucky shrugged casually, though his eyes held a wary look. “So, we don’t have to get another round.” He pushed the plate forward. “I remembered you liked the chocolate chip muffins and the mocha?”

The detective nodded, sitting down across from Bucky. “Yeah, these guys make the best mochas in all of New York, I swear! Oh! And I got your cappuccino, the one with the hazelnut, right?” 

Bucky took a sip of his cup of the hazelnut cappuccino and nodded, smiling softly. “Extra whip?” He reached for the cup Steve indicated, putting it in front of himself then took the plate of pastry from Steve and added it to his trio of treats.

“Of course,” Steve chuckled, his nerves settling a little. “We wouldn’t want ya to miss out on your whipped cream.”

A soft smile lit Bucky’s eyes at the familiar ribbing and he took another sip. “Thanks,” he said, softly, into the steam of his cup.

Steve smiled and took a sip of his own drink, before clearing his throat slightly and asking, “So? What have you been up too lately, Buck?”

With a small shrug, the reporter looked towards the jangling bell over the opening door, eyes wide. Slowly, he let his breath out and his eyes drifted back to his cup as a pair of young teen girls walked in, giggling and passing photos back and forth over their phones. “I spent some time in Florida with Becca and the kids, then when I came back, Tony offered me a place to stay while he worked on my arm.” Bucky looked up at Steve. “Been there with him ever since.”

“How is Becca doing?” Steve asked; he didn’t really want to dwell on Tony Stark at the moment. He’d had enough of the billionaire at the wedding to last a lifetime. 

“She was fine once her husband came home in one piece,” he sipped his coffee again and his eyes flickered warily over the slowly increasing crowd. He seemed highly alert now and on the verge of jumping up at any moment - - so much more the picture of the vet with Post Traumatic Overload Steve had inadvertently accused him of being almost a year before.

Steve sighed, noticing Bucky’s increasingly anxious behavior as the coffee shop filled in. “Ya want to go for a walk? It’s gettin’ a bit stuffy in here. You know how much I hate being stuffed in a place like a pack of sardines,” he asked as he pulled on the collar of his shirt, trying to make it look like he was getting warm.

Latching on almost desperately to Steve’s offer, Bucky nodded and put his half finished drink down. “Yeah, let’s get some air.” He stood almost too quickly, but caught the table to balance himself, swaying as the change of position sent his blood pressure rising for a moment. Clearing his throat, he asked, sounding nervous or anxious, “should we get this to go or just forget about it?” His left hand waved over the uneaten pastries and nearly untouched cups of coffee as if he could care less about the food.

“We’ll grab somethin’ else,” Steve stated, “C’mon. Let’s get outta here.” The blond motioned for Bucky to step in front of him and lead the way out of the shop. Steve followed close behind the brunet but stayed back enough to give Bucky his space.

A stocky, dark haired man strolled past the pair on the city street, and Bucky suddenly whirled and pushed pretty much into Steve’s chest, panting, eyes getting wide, hand shaking. He whimpered.

Without thinking, Steve wrapped his arms protectively around Bucky. The detective leaned in close and whispered into the trembling man’s ear, “It’s alright, Buck. You’re okay. You’re safe.” Steve tried to keep his tone soothing, but on the inside he freaked out, not sure if Bucky needed this right now.

Bucky pressed against Steve, practically pushing him back towards Parrah’s, but his eyes had gone near-blind in panic and he made small whimpering noises in the back of his throat, quickly entering a full panic at the sight of the man who had barely resembled Rumlow.

Remembering what Riley had done at the wedding, Steve began to rub comforting circles on the small of Bucky’s back. “It’s alright. You’re safe, Buck. You’re okay,” the blond repeated. 

Finally, Bucky gave up trying to push Steve . . . or maybe push through Steve . . . and buried his face in the strong chest, whimpering. “Help, please?” he whispered. “Too many . . . too much . . .”

Steve nodded, “Alright,” the detective paused, thinking over where he could take the journalist. “Do you still have a key to Nat’s?”

Bucky nodded, hand reaching up to blindly tug at his collar, tearing slightly at the material. He didn’t make any cohesive sound, merely whimpering and starting to keen softly. Bucky kept his face buried in Steve’s chest, head bent, as he pulled and tugged at his collar.

With a guiding hand on Bucky’s back, Steve turned and started walking in the direction of the brunet’s old apartment. He continued whispering, “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Almost submissively allowing Steve to guide him, Bucky switched from his shaking right hand to using his metal prosthetic hand to tear at his collar, the fingers scratching at the soft skin of his throat as he worked at the shirt. He didn’t pay any heed to the blood and pain, trying to get his collar to rip or pull away or something.

“Ssshh, Bucky,” Steve cooed gently. “We’re almost there, just hold on a little longer. Can ya’ do that for me?”

Bucky made murmuring, panting noises under his breath, his vocalizing sounding desperate as he continued clawing at his shirt collar, eyes pressed closed, relying entirely on Steve’s guiding hand and gentle voice. Slowly the sounds seemed to make more sense, but sounded something like “keekeekeekeekee . . .” as he kept faltering against Steve in his stuttering steps.

The detective saw the familiar building and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. Steve made it to the front steps and stopped, “Can you get up the steps, Buck?”

Bucky practically tripped on the front step then opened his nearly black eyes, pupils dilated in fear. He stopped cold and stared at the steps with a blank expression, metal fingers finally gripping the edge of the shirt and ripping it, exposing a key dangling from a chain around Bucky’s neck. “Keekeekeekee . . . “ Bloody scratches lined both sides of the dangling bit of metal.

Finally understanding what Bucky had been trying to tell him, Steve gently slipped the chain over the brunet’s head. He forced his eyes not to linger on the harsh, angry lines that marked the journalist’s skin. “I’m gonna pick you up now, that okay?”

Once the key and chain left Bucky’s neck, he sank down into Steve, barely holding himself upright. He pressed against the comforting presence, the smell and feel of the man so familiar, that despite their bitter argument nearly a year before, Bucky instinctively sought his warmth for protection.

Steve wrapped one arm under Bucky’s knees and the other right behind his shoulder blades, trying not to think of the last time he’d lifted the smaller man like this, but he couldn’t stop seeing Bucky bruised and broken. The blond hoisted Bucky up further and made his way into the apartment complex. He ignored the shocked look on an old woman’s face as he passed by her door. 

The journalist kept his head buried in Steve’s neck and shoulder, wrapping his metal arm securely around the large shoulders. He whimpered once, pushing away a bit, realizing that he had been lifted by somebody large, but another wave of Steve’s voice soothed the building fear . . . barely. He tugged closer, instead.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Steve made it to the door and he struggled slightly to get the key into the lock. Finally, the key slipped in and the blond was able to push the door open with his foot and walk into the familiar space. Steve went over to the couch and leaned over, gently laying the shaking man down.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.” Steve muttered, pushing aside a small strand of hair that had fallen into Bucky’s face. Steve’s heart ached at the sight of Bucky; he felt helpless, not knowing what to do to help. 

Sweaty, disheveled, and panting, Bucky finally pulled away from Steve. He looked around at the safety zone of Nat and Clint’s apartment. With a small gasping ending on a rasping sob, Bucky pushed over the arm of the couch and tumbled, practically head over heels, to the floor. He pushed to his hands and knees and scooted back until he hit a wall, then sat and wrapped his arms around his knees, rocking and watching Steve with wary intensity.

Steve knew he should call Riley, the therapist would know what to do; but the detective also knew if he called Riley, he would probably never be allowed to see Bucky again. Instead, he figured he would try and calm Bucky down on his own. He crouched down to the brunet’s level but not making any advances, “It’s okay, Buck. It’s me. It’s Steve. You’re okay. You’re okay, baby.” Steve fliched slightly, worried that the old name he used to call Bucky might’ve crossed a line.

Slowly, very slowly, Bucky blinked his dilated eyes, watching Steve. He took trembling breath after sobbing gasp, still cowering into the wall, still shaking as if caught in a violent storm, but he watched his former lover almost steadily through nearly fear-blacked eyes, ringed in pale-blue.

“You’re safe. Bucky, you’re safe. You’re at Nat and Clint’s place. You’re safe.” Steve felt his throat tighten, he wasn’t helping. If anything Bucky was getting worse. He really should call Riley. “It’s me, Steve. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m right here, baby, nothing is going to happen. You’re safe.” Tears welled in his eyes, he blinked several times, trying to keep them from spilling over.

Suddenly, almost quicker than could be tracked, Bucky launched himself at Steve, eyes wild, still keening. He wrapped his arms around the other man, sealing his mouth over Steve’s as if starving. He pressed against him, flush, and kept pushing, as if wishing to just meld with the detective, to become one, safe whole with him.

Steve tensed when Bucky’s lips met his, but within seconds he found himself cupping the brunet’s face and kissing back with equal intensity. The blond trailed his tongue across the journalist’s lips, as if asking for permission to deepen the kiss.

Without hesitation, the brunet willingly followed Steve’s silent request, opening his lips and darting his tongue into Steve’s hot, wet mouth. He whimpered, a sound between question and need. He slid his crotch along Steve’s thigh, his member beginning to fill with need. “Steve,” he breathed desperately.

Steve groaned, “I got you, baby.” The blond’s erection pressed hard against his khaki’s, and Bucky pressing his body against his own only made Steve more desperate. Steve’s hand moved under the hem of the brunet’s shirt and he trailed his fingers along the hardness of Bucky’s abs.

The skin under Steve’s fingers felt hot to the touch, trembling slightly at every stroke of the blond’s calloused fingers. The detective pulled Bucky’s shirt over his head, Bucky helpfully lifting his arms obediently, and gazed over the journalist’s torso as if it was the first time he was seeing it. Steve could see the outline of the brunet’s ribcage, evidence of his recent lingering illness, but the journalist would ever be Steve’s favorite sight to wake up to and worship through the night.

“God . . . Baby, so beautiful.” Steve breathed as he placed open mouthed kisses down the side of Bucky’s neck. 

The other man let his head fall back, exposing his throat to his lover. “Steve,” he rasped in a needy whine. “Help me . . . I need love . . .” He thrust his hips against Steve, his clothed erection sliding against the strong muscle of Steve’s thigh.

“I got you, Baby.” Steve said, his voice coming out in gasps of breath. The blond leaned over and pressed his lips to Bucky’s fevered chest, drawing a soft whimpering moan from the other man as he bucked his hips upward and curled his hands, one metal the other trembling flesh, into Steve’s hair. The blond’s fingers worked on the button of the smaller man’s jeans; he quickly worked them down the brunet’s slender legs. Bucky lifted his hips to aid Steve’s efforts, revealing that he wore no briefs at all that day.

One hand pushing on the small of Bucky’s back, Steve’s other palmed the journalist’s erection. The detective moved back to kiss the brunet’s lips again, biting down gently on Bucky’s bottom lip. “Little help here, Buck?” Steve breathed into the smaller man’s mouth.

Answering Steve’s kisses with equal hunger, Bucky’s hands immediately tugged Steve’s still buttoned shirt up and over his head, tossing the material blindly across the living room. Without any hesitation, the brunet moved his hands to Steve’s trousers and unfastened them, slipping his hands under the material and around his waist to slide tightly against Steve’s ass cheeks, squeezing lightly with his left hand and merely caressing with the trembling right.

Not removing his hand from Bucky’s back, Steve carefully stood up. 

As Bucky found the taller man towering above him, he whimpered and tugged at the blond’s pants, pulling them down to the ground as the brunet rose to his knees. With a soft moan, Bucky cupped Steve’s balls in one hand and encased the detective’s erection in his other, leaning close to lick experimentally at the tip.

Steve groaned and let his head fall back as Bucky’s tongue darted into the slit then roved around the spongy head before the brunet sealed his mouth over the tip and sucked. The blond’s fingers immediately wrapped themselves around the journalist’s silky locks. “Buck . . . Bucky . . . Oh, God.”

Smiling slightly, Bucky gently pushed his sucking mouth further over Steve’s shaft, taking more and more slowly into his mouth as he provided a counter-pressure with his sucking. He fondled his lover’s heavy sac, lovingly rolling Steve’s balls together using his still cool metal left hand.

Eyes fluttering close, Steve couldn’t stop the words that came out of his mouth, “I need ya, Buck. I need to feel you.”

Pulling off completely with an obscene sucking pop, Bucky looked up at Steve, saliva stringing from his flushed lips to the tip of the blond’s swollen, purple head. “You love me? I need you to love me, Steve,” he breathed, his voice breathless and sounding far away, rasping in need.

“Yes, I love you. God, I’ve never loved anyone more than I love you, Buck.” Steve admitted, looking down at the brunet, and running his hand lovingly down the side of Bucky’s face.

“Yes,” Bucky hissed and let go of Steve. He slowly sank back onto his heels and watched his lover with wide, blown eyes. “Now? Love me now?” He wriggled his hips, erection weeping, swaying with each needy movement.

A low growl escaping past his lips, Steve knelt down and wrapped his arms around Bucky, and the other man responded by gracefully sliding his legs from under himself and wrapping them around the blond’s waist. Pressing their lips together, Steve stood up and made his way into the journalist’s old bedroom. 

Carefully, Steve set Bucky down on the bed and rummaged through the nightstand until he found the bottle of lube. Popping open the cap, Steve said, “Imma take care of you, Baby.”

Getting to his hands and knees and leaning towards Steve, Bucky watched his lover’s every move with intense concentration, the tip of his pink tongue slipping between his lips to moisten them. He whimpered in need.

Squeezing some of the lube on his fingers, Steve caressed Bucky’s hip gently.

With a keening sound deep in his throat, Bucky turned to offer himself to Steve, leaning forward and laying his head on his folded metal arm, the right curled up against his abdomen. He let his eyes close, waiting for Steve’s further touch.

Steve placed his hand carefully down on Bucky’s back while he used his other to stroke lightly at the brunet’s puckered hole, caressing with a lubed finger and eliciting small whimpers from the man under him. Slowly, Steve inserted his finger, making sure to stop frequently to let the man below get comfortable.

Bucky panted, “God, yes! Steve . . . need you . . .” He kept still under Steve’s gentle hand on his back, but his breath caught on his desire.

Once Steve was able to get first one finger then a second all the way in, he curled them and stroked gently over Bucky’s prostate; Bucky let out a deep howl. Groaning, Steve started to work his lover’s ass, scissoring his fingers to stretch the passage. Trembling throughout, Bucky’s body under Steve’s steadying hand alerted the blond to the brunet’s intense pleasure and his effort to stay completely still. Shortly, Steve worked a third questing, caressing finger inside Bucky’s hot passage, eliciting yet another howl of pleasure and need.

“You ready, Baby?” Steve breathed, kissing Bucky’s shoulder gently.

“Yes,” Bucky moaned.

“Imma take care of you, Buck.” The blond muttered as he removed his fingers. He opened the lube again and made sure to thoroughly slick his erection before lining up with Bucky’s passage. Slowly, the blond pushed inside, letting out a low groan.

Bucky keened as he felt filled by Steve’s hard member, moving slightly to push back, trying to take more, but then stopping and keening.

When the detective bottomed out, he held still, letting the brunet get accommodated to his size.

“God, yes,” Bucky breathed and adjusted his left arm slightly, trying to get comfortable holding himself up on one arm, but he cooed, “Yes, Steve, love me . . .” He lifted his head slightly, keeping his back and hips extremely controlled and still. Twisting his neck, Bucky looked up at Steve and murmured, “I need you, Steve . . . only you . . .”

Bucky’s words seemed to throw the detective into action. Steve began to thrust his hips, gently, to avoid hurting the brunet. Leaning forward, Steve breathed into Bucky’s ear, “I love you, Buck. God, I love you so much.”

“Love . . . you . . . Steve,” Bucky panted with each thrust then buried his face back into the cool metal of his prosthetic arm, whimpering and grunting as his lover slid in and over his prostate then pulled out only to push in again and again.

Steve reached over and wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s member, stroking the tip, slick with precum. Matching his thrust, Steve worked on the brunet’s erection. The blond sucked gently on the journalist’s lightly sweat-slicked shoulder. 

Feeling his balls tighten, Steve knew he was close, “So close . . . Baby. So close . . .” 

Nodding slightly into his arm, Bucky’s body moving with each thrust Steve gave his passage, the brunet groaned out, “yes, close, Steve . . .” His left shoulder ached with his efforts of holding himself up and the control he exhibited over any wild movement, keeping to Steve’s rhythm, Steve’s gentle guidance. Bucky keened again. “Need you, Stevie, please? Oh, God, please, Stevie?”

Hearing Bucky call him by his old pet name brought Steve over the edge. With one final thrust, he came hard inside the brunet. 

The feel of hot seed painting his walls brought Bucky tumbling right behind his lover, thick white jets of cum spurting out of his throbbing hardness and coating the bed and his abdomen, hitting his neck and chin where he leaned over, still braced. Bucky screamed into his metal arm, “God, yes, Stevie! ‘M your’s, always!”

Riding out his orgasm before pulling out carefully, Steve kissed Bucky’s heavily trembling shoulder again. The blond shifted and gingerly lifted the brunet’s face so that he could crash his lips against the journalist’s. Steve’s hand cupped Bucky’s face, a little shocked when he felt dampness on the smaller man’s cheeks. 

Pulling away so he could fully look at Bucky’s face, Steve saw that the brunet had tears running down his cheeks. Kissing each trail of tears, Steve asked, “I didn’t hurt ya, did I?”

“Never,” Bucky whispered, body twisted so he could return Steve’s kisses. “You promised not to hurt me . . . to keep me safe . . .” he breathed into Steve’s hot mouth. “I’m here. I’m safe. I’m with you.”

“I’ll always be here, Buck. Imma keep you safe,” Steve promised, kissing Bucky’s forehead. He wrapped his arms around the brunet’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “I love you so much, Buck. Never forget that.”

Bucky didn’t reply, his eyes drooping in exhaustion, both mental and physical; his night had been an emotional rollercoaster. He offered a small smile to his lover and hummed softly.

Steve leaned back, pulling Bucky with him, and laid down on the mattress. Bucky curled into Steve with a contented sigh, burying his face in the other man’s sweat-streaked neck. The detective ran his fingers through the brunet’s hair and waited until he heard the steady breaths meaning that Bucky had fallen asleep.

“I love ya, Bucky.” Steve mumbled before letting his own eyes close, a content feeling spreading throughout his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading our story! Please leave kudos and comments, they help keep Sam and I motivated!  
> See ya next time!


	3. Aftermath

“Bucky?” Riley called out as he opened the unlocked door of Nat and Clint’s apartment. “Bucky? You in here?” The ex-paratrooper stepped inside the room and his eyes immediately focused on Bucky’s ripped up blue henley that laid, obviously discarded, by the front door. Picking it up, his heart sank at the sight of red that speckled the collar. 

“Bucky?!” Riley called out again, stepping further inside the space and then he saw a shirt, that he believed belonged to Steve, on the couch. He grabbed a pair of khaki pants that he knew were too big to be Bucky’s. His eyes narrowed; shaking his head he made his way over to Bucky’s old room. 

Still curled securely in Steve’s arms, Bucky blinked slowly awake, confused and feeling sick and achy, head throbbing and stomach churning. Feeling the skin and muscles against his own nude flesh, the brunet’s heart started thundering instantly, and he pushed away with a cry, eyes widening in fear and confusion. Bucky scuttled backwards and right off the bed, ignoring his ignominious tumble, the pain of his right arm striking the still open nightstand. “What the fuck?” His voice rose in a fearful whine.

Hearing Bucky’s cry, Riley flung open the door and immediately saw Bucky sitting on the floor completely naked. However, what caught his attention the most were the angry, bloody scratches that covered the journalist’s neck and the fact that the brunet’s right arm was covered in bruises and scrapes.

Shooting up, Steve blinked a couple times, ready to attack an intruder before his vision focused and he saw Riley standing in the doorway and Bucky on the ground. “Riley? Bucky what happened? Are you okay?”

“Ri . . . ley?” Bucky asked, rasping slightly, sounding confused. “What happened? Where?” He looked. “How’d I get here?” He unconsciously pulled his right wrist against his abdomen, trying to control the shaking out of habit. Spotting the blond detective on the bed, Bucky asked “Steve?” His voice held shock.

Riley narrowed his eyes in Steve’s direction, making the detective squirm a little, before softening his gaze on Bucky. “You didn’t show up for your session this morning, Buck. I got worried; I called Tony and he said you’d gone to _Parrah’s_ with Steve.” 

Bucky nodded in agreement with what he heard so far. “Yeah, we got mocha and hazelnut like we used to.” His voice came out a bit hazy as he tried to recall what happened after that, but things started to blur. He looked back to Steve and finally became aware of Steve’s nudity . . . and his own. Light-blue eyes widening, Bucky’s mouth dropped open in silent confusion, unable to form the words to ask or even guess what had happened between them. He shuddered and wrapped his left arm around himself.

Rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously, Steve muttered, looking only at Bucky, “You . . . You had a panic attack. I - - uh . . . brought you here. This was the closest place where you’d feel safe.”

Lifting his left hand to run through his itchy, sleep-mussed hair then lowering the metal limb to the painful welts on his neck, Bucky frowned. “Thanks?” He looked at Riley, seeking help to make sense of the total blank in his mind . . . and the obvious decadence of his waking.

Riley flicked his eyes between the two men before settling on Bucky; he smiled slightly before suggesting, “Why don’t you go get cleaned up? A shower might help you . . . remember things. I’ll get you some clothes.”

Obeying, much as he had earlier that morning though he had no idea he’d been so complacent, so subservient, Bucky pushed to his feet, shaking and sore. He walked out of the bedroom, heading for the relative safety of Nat’s room, instead, closing the door softly behind him and heading to her en suite bathroom.

After the patient had left, the therapist turned on the major trigger that had been repeatedly brought up in several sessions. Crossing his arms, Riley lost all semblance of gentle guidance and narrowed a glare on the taller blond. Unwrapping his arms, Riley suddenly tossed Steve’s pants at him, smacking him directly in the face and chest. “You mind telling me what you were thinking, Rogers?”

Blushing beet-red, Steve stood up and quickly pulled on the pants. “I’m sorry! He . . . he was upset and was crying . . . I didn’t know what to do!” Steve exclaimed. 

“Let’s break it down, shall we? The guy who was brutally raped, twice, in captivity by a guy your size, went on a several month sabbatical terrified of any man. When he finally got back into some control, he returned and stumbled upon you. He decided to hold back that terror and try for friendship?” Riley strode closer so he could lower his voice to a threatening growl and still have his soft tones heard. “And when he panics for some reason, you bring him to an empty apartment and let him seduce you?”

“He kissed me, Riley! Don’t you ever compare me to Rumlow! I would never hurt him like that!” Steve growled, his temper rising. 

Holding a hand up, voice sliding to cold, Riley said “I never said you raped him, Rogers. I said you let a confused man out of his head with terror seduce you. Or are you suggesting he seduced Crossbones, too?”

“God, no!” Steve admonished, completely shocked at the words that Riley had spoken

“So, we clear on my accusation then, detective?” Riley slipped his slender hands to his narrow waist, blue cloth bunched in one, still glaring at the larger man.

“I know I shoulda called you - -” Steve started but Riley cut him off.

“Damn right, Rogers. Bucky is in a very delicate state of balance. He should have stayed in that hospital in Florida for a lot longer. But he came back, and I still think it was too soon. One of his more unfortunate symptoms is a need to . . . erase the rape from his mind and body. When he gets really far gone? He starts looking for someone to replace that horror . . . he’ll do whatever he’s told to get some relief. It’s why I’ve gotten him into meditation . . . as a way to distract him from trying.”

“Wait . . . are you saying that he’s tried to . . . seduce you?” The words felt wrong coming out of Steve’s mouth.

Throwing his hands up in the air, knowing that all sense of patient privacy had been blown out the window by then, Riley nodded. “Yes, probably every three days or so, actually. And he’s tried to do Sam and Tony, too.”

“B - - But . . . “ Steve scrambled for the words he wanted to say, but nothing seemed to come out. 

With a sigh, Riley pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Because of his fugue states from the panic attacks, he’s not even aware of the attempts later. He vaguely knows he does it, but he’s pretty clueless about it.” The therapist dropped his hand to look over at the detective.

Steve groaned softly and looked at Riley with a desperate, confused expression. 

“How’d he get hurt, Rogers? What’d you do to him?” This time Riley produced the other piece of cloth he’d been holding: Bucky’s torn, bloody shirt. He tossed it into Steve’s lap.

Gasping loudly, completely taken aback that Riley would even think he’d do that, Steve nearly shouted, “He did that himself! He was scratching at his collar . . . trying to get me to see Nat’s key that hung around his neck!”

Riley held up a hand. “Don’t raise your tone to me, Rogers. I’m looking out for my patient. Technically, I can have you charged with abuse of a man incapable of independent decisions. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this. When he’s in that state, he’ll do whatever he’s told and won’t argue . . . even hurt himself. I wanna be sure you didn’t maybe accidentally or absently make a stupid suggestion or . . . an outright cruel one.” Riley didn’t look sorry for his accusations, despite the years they’d known each other; he took his care of his patients extremely seriously.

Lowering his tone to a harsh whisper, Steve said “God, no. Riley, what kind of man do you think I am?”

“I hope you’re the man I know and care about, Steve, but I have another serious question for you. I want you to think about this carefully.” He paused, catching and holding the other man’s intense blue gaze. “What kind of lover was Bucky before the attack? The same as this morning?”

Steve shook his head, “No . . . he . . . well he was a bit more demanding? I guess.”

“Demanding? Like in _‘give me’_ or pleading?” Riley dropped his arms to his sides.

“I don’t know . . . _‘give me’_ I guess.” 

“Funny, he often uses _‘I need’_ and _‘please’_ with me,” Riley sounded thoughtful but didn’t break their stare.

“What’s your point, Riley?” Steve snapped, crossing his arms. 

Riley sighed. “My point? Did he initiate? Did he tell you what to do, reach for you, make the first moves at all? Or was it like . . . fucking a zombie?” He merely watched Steve, and there was something in the therapist’s eyes that said he already knew the answer.

“He initiated most of the time. Kinda . . . I don’t know . . . bossy?” The detective really did not feel like hashing out his old love life. 

“Verbally initiate, but did he physically initiate or did you have to make all the moves, Steve?” Riley frowned softly, eyes beginning to show impatience with Steve’s late morning stupidity.

“God, Riley!” Steve groaned, “He initiated, all right? In every sense of the word. Does that satisfy you?”

“Then you’re telling me that he wasn’t lost in a fugue state at all? He was totally conscious of what he wanted and took it, stripping you, loving you? Because if that’s the case, _Mazel Tov_! But if you think on it and see that Bucky was doing things only after you suggested it, you’ll know why I’m fucking pissed off at you for taking advantage of a deranged man, who didn’t know any better than to try to mentally erase a horrible attack by refusing to do anything that might start another one on top of it!” The man turned towards the door, slipping into the living room to wait for his patient.

Steve froze, his blood running ice cold. Riley was right; Bucky had only done things _after_ he had suggested it. The detective remembered how still Bucky had tried to remain and how he literally obeyed anything Steve had said. Steve raced out into the living room, making sure to keep his voice down so that Bucky wouldn’t be able to hear him, “Riley? Oh my God! What did I do?”

The therapist whirled, anger on his face. “Did we not make it clear, even Bucky after the party fiasco, say that he was suffering from confusion? That he wasn’t stable and couldn’t handle a relationship? Didn’t I warn you when I gave you his number that he could be hurt real easily?” Riley stormed straight over to Steve and looked up at the taller man. “I hope he doesn’t remember this morning, Steve, because I’m afraid that if you ever hoped to get back together with him, recalling how he was dominated by you this morning could only hurt him.”

“That’s not fair! You didn’t tell me that he got like that! I would’ve never brought him here. I would’ve never been alone with him!” Steve growled, his face inches from Riley’s. 

“It wasn’t my information to share . . . patient-doctor, Rogers!”

“What the hell?” Bucky stood in the doorway to Nat’s room, eyes wide and confused. He stared at Steve, left hand gripping a towel, wrapped in Clint’s robe, which exposed a bit of ankle and wrist as Bucky stood taller than their friend. “What do you mean, Steve, that you wouldn’t have brought me here or been with me . . . alone?”

Steve’s eyes widened, and his heart stopped. He turned to face Bucky, taking a couple steps towards the brunet.

“I . . . thought you brought me here to get me out of a panic attack situation?” Bucky sounded uncertain, eyes narrowing as he tried to fight the nauseating headache to recall those fuzzy, unclear hours.

“I did, Buck.” Steve said.

Bucky raised a hand. “No,” his voice came out soft and very calm, but slightly sad. “I’m sorry, Steve, if I . . . did anything that bothered you. I get it.” He headed to pick up his pants from where Steve had dropped them, knowing he must have had sex with Steve, but not recalling any of it . . . not understanding how a man like Steve would want to have sex with a screaming, shaking, blabbering nutcase. Fuck! Had he . . . _attacked_ Steve?

“No, Bucky it’s not like that! You didn’t do anything to bother me. It was a mistake.” Steve winced as the last words left his mouth; that was not what he’d meant to say. 

Nodding, back to the other men, Bucky slid into the jeans and fastened them with some difficulty, his right hand shook hard by then. Taking off Clint’s robe and draping it over the arm of the couch, Bucky finally turned. “It’s okay,” he said in his new softer tones, the tones he’d adopted since his attack, the quiet manner as if he were afraid all the time and trying to keep himself from trembling publically. “It’s not your fault, Steve. It’s mine. I’ll just . . . go back to Tony, right now, okay? We’ll . . . try for coffee sometime . . . later.” He turned for the door.

“Wait!” Steve called, not wanting to watch Bucky leave him for a third time.

Freezing at Steve’s words, almost an echo of the morning’s obedience, Bucky waited, back stiff, left hand on the knob. “Yes?” he asked quietly.

Steve released a shaky sigh, “I’m sorry. Bucky, this morning . . . I’m sorry, okay?”

Riley crossed his arms and glared at Steve, still letting Bucky and the detective hash this out but obviously not happy about the entire affair.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder. “Sorry? Yeah, so am I Steve. I . . .” he turned and looked at the knob then added softly, “I’m sorry I put you through that. Good bye.” He opened the door and walked out. “Riley? Take me home?”

The ex-paratrooper shoved past Steve and went over to his patient. “Alright, Buck. Let’s get you home.” Riley followed Bucky out the door and turned back to Steve. “Make sure you lock up,” the therapist snapped and shut the door. 

Steve watched the door for what seemed like forever. Bucky was going back to Tony . . . whatever the hell that meant, and Steve had used the reporter in the most disgusting way. He felt like he was going to be sick; he knew he would have to distance himself from the brunet. There was no way he would ever use Bucky like that again. Riley had been right; Steve had been so caught in the moment that he had not seen the signs. He allowed Bucky to be used; he was like Rumlow. 

The detective knew that Bucky deserved better than him; he deserved all the love in the world. He had promised Bucky that he loved him more than anyone else in the world . . . and he had meant it. That was the reason why he would distance himself. Steve would protect Bucky . . . even if that meant protecting Bucky from himself. 

**********

As Bucky left the apartment and climbed into Riley’s car, he didn’t say a word. Fastening the seatbelt securely, he let his forehead fall against the window, sighing and fighting the overwhelming knowledge that he had wrecked any chance he’d hoped for to reconcile with Steve . . . to try to rebuild their friendship and even more. Attacking Steve . . . that had been beyond anything Bucky’d ever thought he was capable of, but he knew, even if he never remembered, that one of his defense mechanisms during some panic attacks was to become overly sexual. That must have happened and Steve, somehow, hadn’t been able to stop him. No, to keep Steve safe, Bucky had to consider not going near him.

Riley climbed into the car and sat down, with a small sigh, in the driver’s seat. He looked over at Bucky and gently gripped the brunet’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “What happened was not your fault, you know that right?”

“No,” Bucky responded, unable to face his friend and doctor, “I don’t know that, Riley. I don’t remember anything except being in the coffee shop. Then I woke up. I could’ve screwed anyone or anything, and I have no idea beyond my aching body and the evidence of what I woke up to . . . Steve in my bed. Again.” He wanted to cry; that hadn’t been how this was supposed to go.

“Look . . . I don’t know exactly what happened, because I wasn’t there. But you were not in control of yourself. You were not aware of what your body was doing.” Riley tried to get Bucky to see how nothing about this situation was his fault.

Bucky turned to look at Riley and sighed, pale blue eyes filled with hot tears of shame. “Then it’s good you weren’t there or I’d have attacked you, too. I’m still broken, disgusting, Riley.” He hanged his head down.

“Is that what you think? That you attacked Steve?” Riley asked, his eyes widening, “You didn’t attack him, Bucky.”

“Of course.” Bucky threw his left hand into the air. “I lost my mind and forced him to fuck me, like I’ve tried with every guy I’ve met apparently. Since Rumlow, apparently I can’t get enough of it.” He sobbed and bit on his right hand to try to stifle the noise.

Riley grabbed Bucky’s hand in a gentle grip and pulled it away so the brunet wouldn’t hurt himself. “You didn’t force Steve into anything. He is a grown ass man who made a grown ass decision. He did it willingly.”

“Well, if I didn’t attack him in insanity, and I was out of control of myself, are you saying _he_ attacked _me_?” Bucky turned horrified eyes on his counselor.

Unsure of how he should respond, Riley nodded once, “In a way . . . yeah. He did. He might’ve not realized it at the time, but he took advantage of you.” 

Bucky turned back to look out the window. “Then I should stay away from him? If I could make a detective break the law, I’m obviously bad for him, Riley.” He again leaned his head against the glass with a soft sob. “I never wanted to hurt him . . . hurt anyone.”

“Bucky,” Riley called, “Buck, I need you to look at me.” His tone was still soft and gentle.

Lifting his face, Bucky turned back to Riley and frowned softly. “Yes, Riley?” he sounded tired and confused.

“You did not hurt anyone. I need you to understand that. You did not hurt Steve. Sure, it might make things . . . a bit awkward for a little bit between you two.” 

“Awkward?” Bucky echoed but continued to listen.

“Yeah, awkward, but that’s it. You didn’t hurt him. I need you to know that.”

“I want to believe that. I never wanted to hurt Steve. But, it’s hard to believe it, Riley, whatever I said or did made an honest detective lose control and take advantage of someone . . . incapacitated? That means I caused him to break the law.” He shook his head. “So, I’m no good for him. I’m toxic . . . damaged and dangerous.”

“No,” Riley shook his head, before stating softly, “You’re healing, Buck.”

“You heard him, Riley. He wouldn’t have been alone with me. He’s sorry for what happened between us.” Bucky broke down then, burying his face in his left hand, right spasming uncontrollably. “Whatever I hoped to have won’t happen because I felt like having sex and now I can’t even recall going to the apartment. What else don’t I remember? What else does he know about me that I have no clue about myself?” Bucky shook his head.

“You can still have it, Bucky. Whatever it is you want, it’s still there. You just have to work for it, it won’t be easy but it’s possible.”

Bucky dropped his left hand and unfastened his belt, still shaking his head. “No, I want trust and love with Steve, but how can I trust myself? If I can’t trust me, how can Steve? Or anyone else?” He reached across his body awkwardly to try to open the door, “I should go back to Becca. Let her check me back into the mental hospital she works in. Get away from normal people.”

Riley let out a deep breath. Honestly, he had thought about suggesting Bucky go back . . . but now the thought seemed to make his chest ache. “Whatever you feel like will help you the most. If going back to Florida is what you believe will help you, then of course you should go.”

The journalist nodded softly and finally fumbled the door open, blind to the fact that they had never driven away from the curb by Nat’s place. “I thought I was getting better, really. I’m sorry I failed you, Riley.” He began to rise.

“Bucky, you are getting better. Every single day I see improvement in you and you know what? I am so proud of you. What you went through . . . well . . . no one should have to. But you carried on. You kept fighting. And I am proud of how far you’ve come.” Riley reached over and wrapped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “You are one of the bravest men I have ever met.”

On a sob, the reporter curled sideways and into Riley’s embrace, gripping his counselor’s shirt and burying his face in the ex-paratrooper’s chest. “I . . . I . . . I don’t . . . I love him even after what he did to me, Riley. I don’t know how to love him . . . but I do. And sometimes he scares me, but I can’t put my finger on it, because he makes me feel safe.”

“I know,” Riley cooed, “I know. We’ll figure it out, okay? Together?”

And finally, Bucky accepted, at least once more, that Riley knew what he was doing. The patient agreed quietly to follow his doctor’s lead. “Yeah, together, Riley.” He sniffled and hiccoughed. “I can beat this,” he sounded like he tried to convince himself.

“I know you can. I have all the faith in the world that you can,” Riley murmured as he held Bucky close. “Alright, how about we get ya home?” 

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, Tony worries if I stay out too long,” he murmured.

“Heck, I think he might need a therapist with this crap he’s pulling on Pepper and Bruce.” Riley chuckled as he put the car in drive, trying to lighten the mood.

With a choked laugh, Bucky shook his head. “He’d probably try to date the therapist, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys all so much for reading!


	4. Assassination

Steve felt sick. After the events of the day, all he wanted to do was go home, curl under his blankets, and never come out. How would he be able to face Bucky again? How could he ever look into those pale-blue eyes and not see the pain he put in them? Not be able to see how he _dominated_ Bucky, how he took advantage of the one person in the whole world that he promised he would always protect.

The detective looked down at Bucky’s blue henley that he still had in his hands: the dark red blood and slight rip that adorned the collar. How had he not seen the signs? How had he missed how completely out of it Bucky had been? Steve replayed the events over and over again in his mind, his stomach churned when he thought about how still the brunet had remained, how he completely gave his body up to Steve’s mercy.

The blond snapped out of his thoughts when he felt his phone go off in his pocket. Steve fished it out and answered it quickly, “Rogers.”

“Jesus, Rogers. I’ve been tryin’ to get a hold of you!” Fury’s voice rang through; he sounded frustrated, “There’s been a shooting. We need you down here ASAP.”

“A shooting?” Steve asked, brows furrowing. “Where?”

“Hank McCoy’s office. You know the Senator? Looks like an assassination. One bullet right through his window, right through the back of his skull.” Fury reported, “Get your ass down here, Rogers.” And then he hung up.

Steve groaned and ran a hand through his short hair. Luckily he kept clothes in his cruiser just in case he needed a change, but he was not in the right mindset to deal with this right now. He shook his head and took a deep breath, _‘Get it together, Rogers,’_ Steve snapped to himself, _‘this is your job. This situation with Bucky will have to wait.’_ 

The detective finished getting dressed in his rumpled civvies and grabbed the key that had been thrown onto the small table by the door. Taking one last glance at the apartment, shaking his head, Steve locked the door.

It didn’t take long for Steve to walk back to _Parrah’s_. The detective made his way to where his car was parked and popped open the trunk where his spare clothes were. Pulling them out, Steve shut the trunk and made his way back into the familiar coffee shop. Luckily, there was a different barista than the morning. The blond walked to the back and quickly changed in one of the restrooms. He splashed cold water on his face; he didn’t look at the mirror, because he was sure he looked like death walking.

When Steve came back out, Sam sat at the very table Steve and Bucky had shared that morning, nursing a black coffee, a steaming mocha sitting waiting at the other seat. The dark-haired man watched the blond approach. Without preamble he said, “Riley told me you might come here. Fury’s havin’ a conniption.”

Steve groaned, “Riley . . . did he say anything else?”

“Other than you took Bucky to his old apartment? No,” Sam sipped his coffee slowly as if they didn’t have a crime scene they had to be at. “Should he have?” His dark eyes watched Steve intently.

The blond detective slumped into the seat across from Sam and threw his head in his hands, “God . . . Sam, I messed up. I messed up big time.”

Sam watched him for a moment then pushed the untouched mocha at his partner. “Let me guess,” he said softly, “Bucky had a panic attack, you took him to a safe place, and he seduced you into a glorious round of sex . . . am I close?” There came no judgement from Sam’s voice, just a neutral, conversational tone, as if they discussed an everyday occurrence.

Steve simply lifted his head and stared at Sam with a hopeless look. “Riley was so upset. He said I took advantage of Bucky. I _did_ take advantage of Bucky.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam shook his head, putting his cup down in the matching saucer. “The love of my life and the other half of my heart can be such a prude and an idiot rolled into one hot package, Steve.” Sam stretched his shoulders, rolling his neck a bit. “He’s a veteran’s counselor. Anything anyone does to confuse his patients pisses him off. Bucky’s a special project for Riley, Steve. He’s the first one to get out of a hospital then see Riley, not the other way around.”

Shaking his head slightly, Steve made a small noise of distress, “Doesn’t matter, Sam. I took advantage of Bucky’s emotional state. I’m no better than Rumlow at this point.”

A hand slamming on the table rattled their cups and Sam glared at Steve. “So, you telling me the man I call brother for over ten years somehow could sense that his lover, whom he hadn’t seen for almost a year, was in dire need of a straight jacket when he practically laid himself out on a bed of roses for some sex? Steve, think about it. You had no clue what happened while Bucky was gone or if his tastes had changed. Unless you knew about his specific case, how were you to know that his begging for your love and protection wasn’t the godsend you thought it was?” Sam fell silent; his knowledge of the language Bucky used that morning was evidence enough the reporter had hit on Sam, too.

Steve felt his eyes well up, but he blinked quickly to stop them from spilling over. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to be in the same room as him. I can’t trust myself. I will not hurt him again. I can’t, Sam.”

The other detective nodded. “I didn’t say move in with the guy. Obviously this morning can’t happen again. You two need to get to know each other all over again . . . maybe have another couple with you guys in case Bucky panics again? You know, Riley’s been pretty tired recently. Maybe I can convince him to take some time off for a couple of dates . . .”

“I highly doubt Riley will want to see me for a while . . .” Steve stopped, his eyes widening, “Oh, God. Nat’s gonna kill me . . .”

Sam’s phone buzzed on his hip and he rolled his eyes. “Papa Bear’s going nuts. We’ll talk on this later, buddy. Come on, we’ve got witnesses to knock on and doors to interview.” Sam rose to his feet.

Steve nodded, somewhat thankful that he didn’t have to talk about Bucky for a little bit. The blond stood up, “You need a lift to the crime scene?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, don’t I always? One cab trip a week has me strapped for beer money, you know,” Sam joked softly to his long time friend and partner. “Let’s go do some beat cop work so Fury lays off with the yellin’.” He sighed. “I cannot wait until he lets us back into our old jobs, Steve, let me tell you!” Sam followed Steve to the car and slid into the passenger seat. “This one’s a shooting, much like the last run, but different. Can’t explain it. You’ll see.”

Putting the car in drive, Steve felt his stomach drop. If this was anything like the last run, he could not let it end the same way. Crossbones was still out there; if he was coming out of hiding now, Steve would be there, waiting.

Seeing the cold, distant look settling on Steve’s face, Sam quipped, “can we run the sirens, Occifer Fuzz, sir?”

Scoffing, Steve flipped the switch and the sirens blared. “If this is Crossbones . . . Sam, we’re taking him out. He’s gotta pay for what he did.”

“Yes, we are,” Sam agreed solemnly. “Paperwork and justice system be damned.”

Clenching his jaw and tightening his grip on the steering wheel, Steve drove with determination to the crime scene. The blond had known of Senator Hank McCoy; he’d actually voted for him. McCoy was a rising politician that actually seemed to want to change things and make New York a better place.

When they arrived, they saw that multiple law enforcement vehicles surrounded the office building. This was the most response Steve had ever seen to a crime scene.

“Politicians,” Sam sighed, reaching for his door but not yet opening it. “If I didn’t like this Senator, I’d be thinking we were just doing this for the publicity and pay hike.” He shook his head and opened his door, stepping out with a grimace and a stretch. Sam pulled his notebook and pen from his breast pocket.

Steve made a noise of agreement before stepping out of the cruiser. He followed Sam into the massive crowds of people and felt surprised to see Fury waiting by the front door of the office building. The scowl that seemed to be permanently etched on the Captain’s face deepened when he saw the two detectives.

“Took you two long enough. Stop for a little shopping or get your nails done?” He groused, glaring at them. “Get in there and talk to the aids and anyone else you find. Keep this quiet, Rogers, no blabbing this around. I heard Barnes came back to town, but until he sees me, I don’t want him getting any private stories. Clear?”

“I don’t think Barnes is anywhere close to coming back, Sir. But don’t worry, I won’t talk to anyone about this,” Steve muttered; he hated feeling like he was a kid being lectured for the hundredth time.

“See that you don’t,” Fury glared again then turned to answer the question of one of the big television news reporters who’d shown up, basically telling them that no information would be forthcoming on an active case, but that they would do everything in their power to solve this crime.

Steve glanced quickly at his partner before stepping into the building.

With a sigh, Sam followed the blond, prepared to go to every person who’d been in the building, including janitors and the wet nosed teenager who stocked the napkins at the ground level snack shop. What he hadn’t expected to find was practically a battalion of people dressed in dark suits of various near identical shades, all running around trying to claim jurisdiction, and all answering to organizations who sported initials for names.

“FBI,” Steve groaned, he hated when the FBI got involved.

Sharon Carter turned and sighed upon seeing Steve and Sam. She tried to put on a friendly, professional look, as she strode to her erstwhile boyfriend. “Detective Rogers,” she said loudly then hissed “I thought you were taking a day for self-reflection, Steve. Why’d you come to work? Couldn’t your boss give you a single personal day?” Her blue eyes studied him in worry.

Steve shrugged one shoulder and said, “You know Fury. The only personal days he allows are when you get a bullet through the chest. But he will expect you the very next day.”

Quickly, Sam added, “Well, he did mention a personal day to attend your own funeral, but that could have been false advertising.”

The pretty blond woman offered Sam a quick smile, but she turned back to Steve just as quickly. “So, I suppose you’ll want to finish your self reflection back at the coffee shop when you’re done here?”

The blond detective froze. Of course she would find out about him and Bucky. She knew everything. “Uh . . . Sharon. I can explain?” Steve felt his cheeks flush.

She held up a hand, cutting him off. “No, Steve, don’t bother. How many times is this?” She shook her head. “First, your ex is flying in from out of town, and you have to be there in case he needs you or calls or something. Then you can’t even dance once at the wedding reception because you have to spend the entire night staring at him like a lovestruck loon. Now you stand me up to go pick him up at a coffee shop and disappear for hours into his apartment? Get your head out of our ass and think about where you want us to head, because right now, it’s heading south pretty damn quick.”

“Sharon . . . Bucky - - well Bucky is special. But you don’t have to worry about it anymore.” Steve was trying desperately to get her to see where he was coming from and save whatever was left of their relationship.

“Special?” Sharon narrowed her eyes. With a shake of her head, short ponytail swaying, she let her voice raise back to a normal level. “So, the senator was shot in the back of the head through his closed, and bullet proofed, office window . . . on the fifth floor.” She turned, with a sharp click of her heels, and strode towards the stairs. “Then, whoever shot him, or an accomplice, marked him.”

“Marked him?” Steve cut in sharply. “What markings were they?”

She glanced back at the detective. “I understand you and Wilson are the leads on this case? Because of your familiarity with one of the possible suspects? A shooter who liked to mark his victims with some kind of cross?” She turned and continued upstairs.

Sam trotted after them grunting, “now we’re put back on a real case . . . and it’s one I’d fucking give my job to never happen.”

They were lead detectives again. Steve felt his blood rush through veins and a fire light within him. This was their second chance; they couldn’t mess it up. They needed to get this done right; Bucky deserved that much from them.

When Sharon led the pair of detectives into the room, she walked straight past a series of forensics officers to the covered body of the senator. The window he’d been shot through had been covered over by a long black sheet, preventing any reporters from trying to get pictures, even five stories up. Kneeling carefully near the blood, Sharon lifted the sheet and looked up at the men.

The senator lay on his face, blue-black hair matted around a precise hole . . . and a neat red cross mark burned into the hair and flesh around the wound. Sam drew his breath in. “Has anyone checked the eyes?” he asked. At Sharon’s shake of her head, Sam dropped down and hesitated before grabbing the senator’s head and turning it slightly, showing that the bullet had made such a big exit hole that the eyes no longer remained.

“Crossbones, the suspect from the killings nine months ago, left X’s on all his victim’s eyes,” Steve clarified. “Since there were no eyes for him to mark, he must’ve settled for the back of the head. There is no way he did this alone though, he wouldn’t have had enough time.”

“”That’s one way to look at it, but if he shot from a distance, his accomplice must have access to this secure building. One of the staff or a registered visitor.” Sam agreed.

With a shrug, Sharon looked towards the window. “Or he had a laser to do the marking with long distance.” She glanced back at Steve and Sam. “An expensive toy, and not readily available outside the military, mafia, or high-tech junkies.

“But,” Steve turned and pulled back the black sheet that covered the window, “The buildings are too far away. There is no way, even with a laser, that he would be able to be that precise with the marking. No, he had an accomplice.” 

“So,” Sam stood and ran a hand through his dark curls. “If this is Crossbones, he’s got an inside man? Or do you think the shooter is someone else? Back of the head, not the front, after all . . . Crossbones did up close and personal. This guy’s a sniper.” He did not make the mistake of even hinting that Bucky could have done this; Sam had gotten over that particular hang up.

Steve felt a shudder run down his spine. He knew that Sam wasn’t suggesting that Bucky could’ve done this, there would be no way the journalist could even hold a rifle anymore, let alone shoot someone with this much precision. However, Steve couldn’t help but think of Sam’s reasoning nine months ago that caused everything to go so wrong, that caused an innocent man to be targeted.

“I agree, Sam. This guy has clearly had sniper training. Rumlow was a good shot up close, but he was no sniper. There is no way he made this shot, this is someone else,” Steve stated, lowering the screen and turning back towards the crime scene.

“This Rumlow?” Sharon broke in, “could he be the accomplice? The one burning the mark? Or maybe it’s a sick kind of homage copycat?”

The blond detective kneeled down and got a closer look at the burns. They were shallow but precise, “Rumlow used a knife nine months ago. The burning is new. Of course he has been in hiding for a while, who knows what new tricks he’s learned.”

With a firm nod, Sam scribbled in his book. “So, Rumlow isn’t cleared, but he’s not our only suspect. We look for snipers that may be on the loose, and any crime with this kind of burning?” The detective looked at his partner. “Think it could be my white brother?”

“Yes, start with matching MO’s. Also, I want Bucky on round the clock protection. If Crossbones is back we need to cover all our bases. He might try and sever any loose ends,” Steve stated as he rose to his feet. Almost forgetting that Sharon was still in the room, Steve flushed slightly; they had just been arguing about Bucky, but he couldn’t help himself. Bucky could be in danger.

“Or get back his missing plaything,” Sam growled, no humor in his tone.

Steve felt his jaw clench, “There is no way that is ever going to happen. Call Stark, see if he has any men on his payroll that can help with the protection detail.”

“Hello? FBI has jurisdiction on this one. Wanna share or do I have to pull rank?” Sharon crossed her arms, glaring at her boyfriend and fellow detective. “I do agree with telling the victim’s new boyfriend to step up security, but maybe some insight sharing can get this bastard caught quicker.”

The blond detective looked at Sharon; Steve did not like how she had referred to Stark as being Bucky’s boyfriend. However, he shook his head and decided not to dwell on that small detail. “Brock Rumlow. We believe he is the perpetrator behind the slayings nine months ago. He . . . did everything as some sick revenge against me.”

“And he kidnapped James Barnes,” Sharon added.

Steve nodded, “Yes, kept Bu-James in a small closet for nearly two days.” The detective took a deep breath before continuing. “Rumlow brutality raped him twice in that closet. All because he was trying to hurt me.”

The FBI Agent winced. “Well, I think I can take care of myself, so I guess you should call Tony about his boyfriend’s bodyguard detail, and I’ll look into burn patterns and snipers.” She whirled around and walked to one of the forensics people, her body stiff, her manner entirely annoyed.

The blond let out a shaky breath, “We can’t let them get Bucky again, Sam. We can’t.”

“We won’t, Steve . . .” he paused and sighed, “but she has a point.” He looked at his partner with troubled brown eyes.

“And what point is that?” Steve muttered, unable to look at his partner.

“If Rumlow is hurting people, again, to get at you, then wouldn’t he want to hurt your new girlfriend as much as your ex-boyfriend?”

Steve froze. He hadn’t even thought of that. He had been so consumed by his fear for Bucky, that he couldn’t see that Sharon could be at risk too. He really was a shitty boyfriend.

“And she’s blonde,” Sam added softly, “and built similar to Hannah Rumlow,” he finished, looking over the crowd of police staff at the scene.

“We gotta find him before he hurts either one of them. I am not letting them get hurt because of me,” Steve growled.

Sam put a hand on Steve’s arm. “Come on, let’s report to Fury and make sure someone gets a protection detail on both potential victims, right?”

Steve nodded tersely, “Yeah. Sharon won’t be happy about it, but she can just yell at me some more.”

With a soft chuckle, Sam nodded. “So, she’ll be adorably confused. Should she yell because you ordered protection for her, or flattered you care enough to protect her, too?” Sam shook his head. “I don’t envy your love life, pal.”

 

************

Steve exited the precinct and stepped outside into the warm summer air. He still needed to call Tony Stark and ask him about Bucky’s protection detail but there was just one problem: he did not want to talk to Stark; something about the smug billionaire rubbed him the wrong way.

The blond sighed and pulled out his phone, quickly dialing the number Sam had given him.

A pleasant sounding male voice with a British accent answered “Stark residence, how may I direct you?”

Steve pulled the phone away from his ear to give it a confused look before pulling it back, “I need to speak with Tony Stark.”

“Who may I say is calling, sir?” The voice asked still pleasantly.

“Steve Rogers. This is official NYPD business,” Steve snapped, already losing his patience. 

In the background of the call a sleepy sounding Bucky called out “Jarvis? Who’s calling?”

The man apparently named Jarvis responded, “Official call for Mr. Stark, Sir. I cannot say more,” then a moment passed and the phone was switched to what could only be speakerphone as the sound of AC/DC blared behind Tony’s chipper voice “Geniuses and Sex Gods, how can I service you?”

“Tony, it’s Steve,” the detective ground out, trying hard not to sound too annoyed.

“Oh! The cute blond dickhead. How’re you, Rogers?” From Tony’s end the sound of whirring came and went, as if the man worked on something mechanical.

“Tony,” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a deep breath, “There’s something I need to ask of you.”

“Funds? VIP Police Gala tickets? A home for your first born illegitimate daughter? You got it,” he said in a happy tone.

“No,” The blond growled. “Look . . . we have reason to believe that Crossbones may be back.”

“No problem, Bacon bits, he’s not allowed in the tower. Jarvis will stop him. You can stop worrying about your’s truly.”

“This isn’t a game, Tony. This is serious. If Crossbones is back, he will come after Bucky. I need more than a british servant’s word that he can’t get in the tower,” Steve sputtered; this was ridiculous. Did Tony not hear him correctly? Why was the inventor acting like it was no big deal that the man who had hurt Bucky so badly was back?

“Nope, can’t have him. He’s my Bucky-boy. I don’t share. And how dare you refer to man’s greatest friend and confidant as an English servant. He was born and crafted in America.”

Crafted? Steve thought. “Stark, can you be serious for just one God damned second?”

“Can be serious for a lot longer than that, little boy blue. And I never joke about my favorite AI’s ability to keep me and mine safe.” The sound of a small explosion and a yelp came over the line and Tony called out “Stop, there’s no fire, Dum-E! Stop it with the extinguisher!”

 _Of course Jarvis was an AI. Stark was a billionaire genius_. Steve reprimanded himself. “Look . . . I bet Jarvis is completely capable of seeing Rumlow - -”

“But,” Tony interrupted Steve, “you’d feel better if there were real humans, fallible humans with weaknesses who need to eat, sleep, and take potty breaks, watching your ex-man, right?”

“Yes, Tony, humans that can throw punches and shoot bullets. Humans that can physically protect Bucky.” Steve couldn’t believe he was actually arguing a case that Bucky needed human protection, not just some AI that couldn’t do much more than sound an alarm.

“And accidentally hit the person they’re supposed to protect? So, knock out gas, electrical fields, and sound-waves loud enough to take out a berserking green mammoth aren’t good enough for the likes of you?”

“Technology can he hacked. Crossbones isn’t stupid. Plus we have reason to believe that he’s working with someone. Someone with advance military knowledge.” Steve could hear his heart pounding in his ears, his voice rising with every word exchanged.

“Oh?” The sounds of tinkering ceased and the music stopped dead. Tony’s voice sounded clearer, more interested. “There’s a military nutcase out to get our lovely boy? Well, can’t let that happen. I’ll get Happy on it right away.”

“Happy? Who’s Happy?” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

A chuckle escaped the rich philanthropist. “He’s my head of security. Has been for like fifteen years or more. I can have him call up his boyfriend Phil, and the pair can arrange to babysit Bucky for as long as I say.”

Steve let out a sigh of relief; finally he was getting somewhere. “Whoever is watching Bucky needs to know what they’re doing. These are very skilled, dangerous men.”

“Send me the bios and intel . . . or at least what that pig Fury will let me see. The more the better, actually. I love intel.” The billionaire turned his music back on and the sounds of mechanics whirred to life once more. “So, we good, Bacon bits, or do I take even more time from adjusting Bucky-boy’s favorite bedtime partner?

Steve’s stomach lurched and his eyes grew wide, “Do not tell me Bucky has been here the whole time? We don’t want to scare him! We haven’t told him that Crossbones has come back yet.”

“Relax, he’s watching some crazy kiddie show next door in the playroom. Though I think he’d be bored right now since it’s been cut into by some political asshole making a big speech about crime in the city or something. The normal who-ha before elections.”

For the second time, Steve found himself releasing a big breath. “Alright. Well I will see what I can do about those files. And Stark?”

“Yeah?” he seemed to pause.

“Thank you for looking after Bucky. He needs someone who will watch his back.” Steve hated to admit it but Stark had provided good comfort to the journalist when Steve couldn’t.

“Well, I wouldn’t want my favorite Bucky-boy hurt, would I? Then I’d be all alone up here in my tower. I’ll see about arranging something for him. Don’t need Bucky crying after his nightmares for more than you, do we?” The last sounded distant, as if Tony were distracted or trying to pull off nonchalance and failing.

Steve clenched his jaw tightly; and here he was trying to be nice. “Bye, Stark,” He spat.

“Bye bye, lover,” Tony called back and then said “Hang it up, Jarvis. And get Happy on the phone . . .” Then the line cut out.


	5. Charges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No, this cannot be happening!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does go into more detail about how Bucky feels about the rape . . . also it has some more details on the rapes themselves. Read with caution.

Bucky was exhausted. He felt like his whole body had been run over by a truck. A headache pounded behind his eyes from trying to recall the events of earlier that day. Bucky wanted, no he _needed_ , to know what had happened; what he’d done to make Steve sleep with him. However, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember. The last thing he could remember was walking out of the coffee shop with Steve . . . nothing else.

Riley had taken him back to the tower and after a few minutes the journalist had told his counselor that he was fine and that Riley should go home and rest. The ex-paratrooper didn’t put up a fight but had told Bucky that he would see him the next morning for their rescheduled appointment.

As soon as Riley had left, Tony pounced on Bucky and demanded that he couldn’t just disappear without telling someone, without staying in contact. Bucky had just nodded along, not feeling up to arguing with the inventor for once. Tony, seeming satisfied with himself, then told Bucky that he needed to make some repairs to the arm, repairs that would need to be done while it was off the body.

So there Bucky sat, leaning heavily on his right side, not being used to the drastic change in weight from the missing appendage, and sipping a cup of coffee. He’d turned on some cartoon to try to distract himself from the thoughts that swarmed in his head. He could hear Tony in the other room, talking to whomever had called; Bucky knew by the genius’s tone that he felt annoyed.

“Well, I wouldn’t want my favorite Bucky-boy hurt, would I? Then I’d be all alone up here in my tower. I’ll see about arranging something for him. Don’t need Bucky crying after his nightmares for more than you, do we?” Tony’s voice echoed through the room and Bucky felt himself wince; that had to be Steve that was on the other line. Why was Steve calling Tony? Why would Tony be worried about Bucky being hurt?

The brunet turned his attention back towards the TV, where the cartoon had been cut off by breaking news. Bucky’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline when he saw Wilson Fisk standing on the steps of City Hall, looking outraged. His enormous fist was raised in the air and his face was twisted in anger. “. . . We can no longer trust our police force! The men and women that are responsible for keeping us safe are no longer capable of doing so! I want it publicly known that I was a victim of their inability to perform the duties that we trust, as everyday American citizens, that they can do! Detectives Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson are directly responsible, through their neglect, for _my_ kidnapping and the torture and rape of respected journalist James Buchanan Barnes!”

The mug slipped through Bucky’s fingers and crashed onto the floor by his feet, shattering upon impact. ‘ _No_ ,’ Bucky thought, ‘ _this cannot be happening!_ ’

The brunet swayed and he felt his stomach heave; his vision clouded around the edges and he continued to stare at the television. Some reporter’s voice rang out from off-screen, “Mr. Fisk, are you saying that James Barnes was raped? Was that the reason he took a sabbatical?”

Bucky could’ve sworn he saw a ghost of a smile tug on the corners of Fisk’s mouth, but as quickly as it had appeared, it had faded away. “I cannot assume to imagine what Mr. Barnes is going through. He needed time away. However, he wouldn’t have even been put in that situation had the detectives assigned to the case, Rogers and Wilson, been doing their jobs.”

Bucky was going to be sick. The whole world now knew what had happened to him. How _dirty_ and _disgusting_ he was. He could never return to work; how was he supposed to go out in public when everyone knew how much of a _whore_ he was?

Another voice asked, “Are you pressing charges?”

“I am taking any legal action that is available to me against those two detectives. I want them out of the NYPD for good - -”

“Bucky? Bucky-Bear are you okay? I heard something crash.” Tony’s voice rang through Bucky’s ears, but he sounded muffled - - so far away.

The journalist could feel his hand begin to shake and a cold sweat clung to his skin. His throat felt tight and he knew there were tears in his eyes. Everyone knew now. Everyone knew who and what he was. There was no hiding anymore, no pretending that nothing had happened.

“Bucky?” Tony’s voice sounded closer, but the reporter didn’t make any indication that he’d heard the inventor. Tony felt really concerned: Bucky just stared at the TV with dead eyes. The shorter man could see a layer of sweat that dotted the tall brunet’s forehead, and the journalist’s face seemed to drain of all color.

That’s when Tony turned his gaze to the TV where he could see Wilson Fisk babbling about something, but the words seemed to go in one ear and out the other as he saw the headline on the bottom of the screen: Daily Press Reporter, James Barnes, Raped. Wilson Fisk Seeking Justice.

“Shit.” Tony murmured.

**************

Crushing an empty beer can in his fist and throwing in across the room in anger, Wade growled and shot to his feet. He’d just gotten home a few hours ago from a rather difficult job and had wanted to take a few days off, just to relax, get himself back in order. That was until he thought it was a good idea to turn on the news.

_Bucky had been raped! His Sergeant had been raped! And someone was going to pay!_

This clown, Fisk, decided it would be a good idea to tell the whole world something that wasn’t his to share. Wade had never wanted to kill someone without pay more than he wanted to kill Fisk at this moment.

“Goddammit!” Wade shouted, kicking over a tower of empty pizza boxes that sat next to the couch.

Someone hurt Bucky!

_We’re gonna kill the bastard right? We’re gonna string him up by the balls and slowly kill the bastard. Make him suffer!_

“Gotta make sure Buck is okay,” Wade stated, walking into his bedroom and grabbing his worn-out black hoodie from where he’d discarded it the night before. He pulled on a pair of black jeans and tucked his pistol in the waistband for good measure.

_Then are we gonna kill the bastard?_

“Oh, we are gonna do so much more than that,” Wade growled, slamming his front door on his way out.

**********

Almost feeling desperate, Tony waited while Jarvis tried to connect him with Bucky’s therapist, someone named Riley. He paced, glancing over at the eerily still reporter as the other man sat once more, staring at the now blank television, skin pale and right hand shaking . . . the only sign of movement from the obviously traumatized reporter. “Come on, damn it! Answer the fucking phone!” Tony ranted at the ringing noise on his hand held.

As Tony muttered curses and threats at the phone, he barely registered his A.I. calling out in a calm voice, “Sir, there is an intruder entering the tower.”

“What!?” Tony clicked the off-button and whirled around to scan the security screens Jarvis lit up for him. “Who the fuck wants to come in here? It’s not like I’ve got some top secret weapons or stuff stashed around this place.”

“Might I remind you, Sir, of the Jericho project . . .”

“Shut up, J!” Then Tony startled at the voice behind him.

“No . . . but you do have my Sergeant.” Wade stated in a relaxed tone as he strolled into the living area, “Ya really should up your security, Stark. It was like taking candy from a baby.”

“Who are you?” Tony asked and flicked his wrist, a long slender rod sliding from the sleeve of his suit. His dark eyes narrowed and he stepped between the stranger and the unaware reporter sitting on the floor amid shattered ceramic. “You weren’t invited over to play.”

Holding out his hands in front of him, Wade grinned, “Just needed to check on my favorite amputee. How you holding up, Sarge?” The mercenary craned his neck to look at Bucky around Tony’s shoulder.

Bucky didn’t move, barely blinked, just stared at the blank screen, pale. His lips did move, but no sounds came out.

“Yeah,” Tony grumped, “Well, as you can see,” he tried to move back into the line of sight, “he’s not up to a visit, so I’ll tell him you dropped by and you can do lunch sometime . . . else.” Tony raised his rather non-descript rod in a wary gesture.

Wade’s eyes narrowed slightly but the smile didn’t leave his face, “C’mon, Tony, why don’t you lower your rod a bit. Gonna poke somebody’s eye out with that thing. And I can assure you, it won’t be mine.”

Tony flicked a switch on the end of the rod in his hand and an electrical hum softly filled the air. “Won’t be doing any poking, pal,” he growled. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but . . .”

“Stop,” Bucky called out sharply. He remained sitting where he’d been, but his head had now turned and he watched the pair through haunted eyes. “Don’t hurt each other.”

“Heya, Sarge!” Wade beamed.

With a frown, Tony flicked the switch again and the electricity stopped. He straightened and offered Wade a glare.

The mercenary simply smiled in return and carefully sidestepped around Tony; he made his way over to where Bucky sat and kneeled down in front of him, making sure to avoid the shattered remains of the coffee mug.

Bucky followed Wade’s movements with his eyes, right hand pressed against his own chest to control the shaking, his left arm still missing as Tony hadn’t yet finished recalibrating it. “Wade . . . hello,” he said softly, in a detached manner, as if he wasn’t there, or at least wished he wasn’t.

“Thought ya might be havin’ a rough day. Figured I’d pay my Bucky-Boy a visit.” Wade smiled, not seeming put off by Bucky’s detached tone.

Turning away, Tony grumbled something like “ _My_ Bucky-boy,” as he walked back to the other room, leaving the door open so he could keep an eye on the scarred stranger. Tony frowned and began to once again adjust the prosthetic.

With a nod, letting his eyes fall to the ceramic shards, Bucky said “today’s not bad, I guess.” His voice came out rougher, raspier than he’d ever sounded around his former comrade since his vocal cords had not healed completely well after Rumlow’s attack.

“Yeah, well, I had to take the subway to get here . . . and let me tell you. That was awful. A dirty hobo thought I was his long lost mother,” Wade said, his tone light and joking.

Looking back up at Wade, Bucky sighed. “I could have come to your place. If you’d called me?” He rather wished Wade had called, then he could have missed that awful news report . . . and Fisk telling the entire world his dirty secret shame.

Wade shook his head, chuckling lightly as he said, “I could not miss an opportunity to break into Stark Tower. Loved seeing the expression on his face . . . wish I woulda had a camera or somethin’.”

“Maybe Jarvis will give you a still shot from the CCV feed,” Bucky said, but he had no humor in his tones. He sounded more like he wanted to break into tears than laugh with his friend.

Wade, noticing that his normal carefree attitude wasn’t getting him anywhere, slowly extended his hand and set it on Bucky’s knee.

The touch sent Bucky shooting to his feet, fear crossing his face, screaming, as he flung himself backwards into the couch, tumbling over it as he overbalanced from the missing weight of his left arm. He sobbed behind the couch and curled into a ball, rocking.

Tony came running in. “What the hell? Don’t upset him, you ass!” He picked up his phone once more to call Riley.

The mercenary, for once, was completely shocked by his old Sargeant’s behavior. He knew Bucky would be traumatized . . . but this? This was something he’d never in his wildest dreams thought he’d ever see. “Heya, Sarge,.” Wade called out as he got into a standing position.

“He won’t come outta that for a while, dude,” Tony grumped. “Where the hell are you?” he asked into the ringing phone. Again to Wade, the inventor said, “he can’t be near large men, dark places, or big crowds. You’re scaring him.” The black-haired man did not approach his roommate, though.

Ignoring the inventor’s words, Wade walked over to where Bucky was crouched behind the couch. “You’re alright, Sarge. You’re gonna be okay.”

The noises had subsided, as had the rocking, but Bucky remained curled in a ball, head tucked down and avoiding eye contact. He sighed and muttered indistinguishably to himself.

Kneeling down again, but not making any sudden movements, Wade said in the softest tone he could manage, so that Tony couldn’t hear. “It’s not your fault, Bucky.”

“Jarvis, check that number. Is it really his therapist? Am I hitting the wrong buttons or something?” Tony called out desperately on the other side of the couch.

“I’m damaged, Wade,” Bucky whispered, almost inaudibly. “Disgusting.”

“No, no.” Wade shook his head, another wave of anger coursing through him as he thought about what that asshole must have done to the reporter. “You could never be disgusting. Nobody thinks that, Sarge. It wasn’t your fault, what happened.”

Bucky looked up at his longtime friend, his grey-blue eyes haunted and hurt. He trembled now as he whimpered slightly.

Glancing over, Tony paled. “Uh oh. Uh, pal, might wanna back off. He’s gonna react pretty badly in a second and you don’t wanna see it.” He looked back at the phone and tossed it, still ringing, on the table. “Jarvis, might wanna get the sleep gas ready, in case Buck loses it completely.”

“You’re alright, Sarge,” Wade murmured again.

Bucky uncurled, still shaking. “Help?” he whispered, and the tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“Not good,” Tony groaned.

Sneaking in a sideways glare in Tony’s direction before returning his gaze back onto the trembling man in front of him, Wade smiled. “Whatcha need, Sarge?”

“No!” Tony called, “Don’t offer him anything, you idiot!”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to his roommate and looked a bit annoyed, but then he glanced back at Wade. “He’s out there, Wade. And he’s gonna hurt someone else.” Bucky reached out his trembling right hand and then curled it back against his waist.

“Not if I can help it, Sarge. Imma do anything I can to get the bastard.” Wade promised, his eyes hardening.

“He’s already taken Steve from me,” Bucky breathed, sobbing lightly. “I . . . I can’t even walk into a coffee shop without losing myself.”

“Well . . . “ Wade started, not sure how to phrase what he wanted to say, “Maybe we should work on finding yourself again, Sarge.”

Bucky blinked. “Finding myself?” Riley was a hell of a therapist, but he had mainly worked on calming Bucky down and helping him regain control. He’d not gotten around to helping Bucky break through that white haze of forgetfulness. “You’ll help me remember?”

“Well . . . I ain’t sure what you forgot in the first place.” The mercenary smiled.

Finally, throwing his hands in the air, still apparently waiting for Bucky to freak out on Wade, Tony called, “he gets like this then he wants to have sex!”

A bright red flush came over the reporter and he hung his head at the shameful reminder.

Wade turned his head to fully look at the inventor, “It don’t look like that to me, Hot Stuff. Seems like he’s doin’ just fine.” The mercenary turned his attention back to the brunet, “Aren’t you, Sarge?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky sighed and lifted his reddened face. “I can’t remember half the time, but I’ve been told by Riley . . . and Tony,” he shot the other man a look before returning his gaze to Wade, “that I get desperate and horny or something when I lose myself.”

Blinking a couple times, Wade thought over the admission, Bucky had never been _horny_ overseas. He wasn’t even sure if he’d ever seen the sergeant even kiss anyone before. “Well . . . that’s more the reason to help ya find yourself again.”

Whispering so low Wade could barely hear him, and Tony had no clue what was said, Bucky added, “I attacked Steve.” He let his head hang once more, horrified and disgusted with himself for attacking his ex-boyfriend.

“You? Attack Captain America? C’mon, Sarge, that man was eyeing ya from the get go. I highly doubt you’d need to attack him.” Wade laughed slightly.

“Captain America?” Bucky frowned, lifting his face in confusion. Shaking his head, he sighed, “Nevermind. But, Wade, he told Riley he didn’t want to be alone with me . . . that he’d never have met me alone if he’d known about my . . . twisted, disgusting problem.” He sobbed, and brought his hand to his mouth, biting down to stifle the noise.

“Well, then, he ain’t worth shit. I wanna help you, Sarge. Maybe . . . not in a sexual way, but I think I know something that might help you find yourself again.”

“What?” Bucky sighed, wanting so much for Wade to help, but not seeing how. He felt like he had disconnected with so much of his former life, he’d never find his way back. He didn’t think Wade was right about Steve. The man had been attacked, like Bucky had by Rumlow. For that, the journalist could never think of Steve in a negative light, even if the detective avoided him for his attack.

“How long has it been since ya fired a rifle, Sarge?” Wade asked bluntly.

Surprised, Bucky blinked at Wade slowly. “Since I lost my hand, of course. The only thing I’ve shot recently was a camera.” He used his weakened right hand to wave at the empty sleeve of his left side.

“Imma take you to the shooting range that I go to. We’ll have a shoot out, like the good ol’ days.” The mercenary stated, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

With a sigh, Bucky nodded, but his words belied the agreement. “I can’t hold anything steady with my right, anymore, Wade. Rumlow,” the name came out a twisted growl of hatred and fear, “saw to that when I was trapped in that closet.”

“Then we use your left hand to hold the rifle steady, your right can just help out a little.” Wade shrugged.

Bucky stared at Wade for a long, silent moment. FInally, he softly said, “You’re serious? You want to teach me to shoot a rifle right handed?”

Shrugging again, Wade smiled, “Sure! You were one hell of a shot, Barnes. I’m sure the talent’s still there . . . we just gotta tweak it a bit.”

Tony, behind the pair on the other side of the couch barrier, screamed in frustration “Not listed? How can a therapist not be listed, Jarvis? That’s insane!”

Bucky jumped at the loud yell but settled immediately, not like he had when Wade had touched him earlier. Evidentially, Bucky wasn’t as far gone as Tony seemed to believe, or even Bucky seemed convinced of; his reactions could be controlled.

“What do you say, Sarge?” Wade grinned, “Wanna learn to shoot again?”

Finally, with a small smile much like his old self on low wattage, Bucky nodded. “I wanna shoot again, Wade.” His hand had stopped shaking. “I wanna shoot the bastard that did this to me.”

*************

An hour later, Riley walked into the main living space and was more than a little shocked to see Bucky talking with a large, heavily scarred man. The therapist was sure, after seeing the newscast, Bucky would be having a complete meltdown.

Tony stood in the other room, muttering angrily as he tried to repair the phone he’d destroyed in frustration. Jarvis chimed out “Sir, the therapist has arrived as requested.” Tony’s head shot up and he smiled, ignoring his phone pieces as he hurried out to Riley’s side.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, glancing at the pair of men by the couch. “He freaked out when he saw the news, then this guy showed up and I thought for sure I’d have to break up a heavy bout of post traumatic stress sex, but nope. The guy calmed Buckers down almost immediately.” Tony pouted, “still don’t know his name, though.”

“Huh?” Riley muttered and walked further into the room. “Hey, Bucky.”

Bucky’s head snapped up at the sound of Riley’s footsteps, his shoulders tightening in his heightened alert state. However, when he recognized his therapist, he relaxed completely once more and offered a small smile to Riley. “Hey, Riley.”

“How’re ya doing?” Riley’s eyes flickered over to where the other man sat, “Who’s the friend?”

Nodding slightly, Bucky answered, “a little better. Maybe focused, I guess? This is Wade WIlson, the only other survivor from my unit.” Bucky’s tone was matter of fact, but there radiated the pain of loss in his eyes.

Riley nodded in recognition of the name. He’d heard the name both from Sam and Bucky. His boyfriend had explained to him that Wilson was a mercenary that they never seemed to have enough evidence to convict; and Bucky had talked about his friend a few times in their sessions. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Wade.” Riley smiled, but then turned his attention back to his patient, “Whatcha focused on?”

“Wade’s gonna help me shoot again,” Bucky answered firmly. “He’s gonna teach me to do it backwards . . . or backwards for me. Normal I guess for you non-lefties.” With that Bucky smiled a little wider, gesturing with his right hand since he had no left arm at the moment. He seemed far from his normal insecure self over the missing limb at the moment.

The ex-paratrooper’s eyes widened slightly; he’d never even thought about putting Bucky behind the trigger of a gun before. However, Riley immediately noted how happy the thought seemed to make the brunet; why hadn’t he thought of it before? “Wow, Bucky! That’s great!” The blond exclaimed happily.

“Oh, gun control? I can do that!” Tony chimed from the doorway. “Your arm’s ready, Buck, if you want it back? Or I could keep it longer and maybe work in a gun rest or even a gun?” Tony sounded hopeful of being allowed to add odd gadgets to the prosthetic.

“No, normal is fine, Tony, thanks,” Bucky smiled back at his roommate. He stood, but seemed to stop and his gaze flickered to the blank television. Sighing, Bucky softly said, “Maybe we need to talk first, Riley?”

“Of course,” Riley nodded.

With a nod, Tony turned to his uninvited guest. “So, wanna see my toys? Give the guys some bonding time?”

With a shrug, Wade got to his feet and made his way over to Tony. “What the hell? Sounds like fun . . . ya got any guns? Maybe some swords?”

“Sure,” Tony shrugged as if those boring things would be in any collection. “I also have sonic wave generators, electrical field amplifiers, gas jet emission . . .” he continued talking as he led Wade into the weapons lab, a holdover from his father, who’d invented weapons for the Cold War.

Bucky sank onto the couch. Taking a deep breath he looked at his friend and therapist. “Did you see the news?”

Riley nodded, walking over to the couch and taking the spot next to the brunet. “Yeah . . . that’s why I was a little late. Sam was pretty upset. How are you holding up?”

“Fisk’s a bastard. Can I sue him for spreading my news around without my permission?” Bucky looked at Riley, blue-grey eyes narrowed in a cold look of anger. “He had no right.”

“Yes you can, actually.” Riley answered, surprised by his patient’s calm demeanor; this was not at all how he pictured Bucky would be acting. “But . . . Fisk is - - well, he’s a powerful man, Buck. I don’t know if ya want to go after that.” 

Sighing, Bucky nodded and ran his right hand through his messy hair, leaning against the back of the couch. “Yeah, I know, I know. Best to just drop it.” He looked up at the ceiling. “When I first saw that fat bastard on the TV, I was shocked, Riley. I . . . I couldn’t believe he’d tell the world how dirty, how deranged I am.” His voice had gone back to the distressed tone Riley was familiar with.

“You ain’t dirty, Buck. And you’re right, he had no right. It was not his information to tell.”

“Wade said the same thing,” Bucky intoned softly, as if he didn’t believe the words. “But that doesn’t stop me from feeling dirty.”

“Wade seems like a very smart man. And I know you feel that way, but, what Rumlow did. It was awful and I believe he should be thrown in the furthest depths of hell; but he is the dirty one. Not you.”

Sitting up, Bucky leaned forward, letting his right arm lean on his thigh and his head hang down. “I feel like I can’t wash him off of me . . . out of me, Riley. I feel like he crawled into my skin and is hanging around inside, controlling me and laughing and . . . watching me. I can’t look in a mirror without seeing that guy.” Bucky looked at Riley. “I can’t get his face out of my mind as he came all over me and made me . . . “ he shuddered, not finishing what Rumlow had made him do during the second rape.

Riley felt his spine stiffen, Bucky had never gone into that much detail about the actual rape; the brunet had told him that he had passed out during the first attack. Never did they go into the second rape, Bucky would always break down before then. The blond put a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “I - - I know it seems like that right now, and I’m gonna be honest here, there are gonna be days that you won’t be able to get what happened outta your head.”

“Riley!” Bucky groaned, “that’s every day!”

The blond held up his other hand, “Ya didn’t let me finish.” Bucky silently nodded and let the counselor talk, watching him almost warily. “But . . . as time goes on and you heal, things will get better, I promise. You’ll be able to wake up in the morning and not think about what happened. You’ll move past all the horrors that Rumlow bestowed upon you, and you’ll be able to live your life.”

“Bestowed upon me?” Bucky quirked an eyebrow at Riley. “You talk strange sometimes, Riley, Sam ever tell you that?” But the odd words had drawn a smile from Bucky once more.

Riley threw his head back and laughed, “All the time. Hey, I gotta get something out of all those years in college! Some fancy vocabulary to make me sound like I know what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Well, I recommend you never use the words ‘bestow upon you’ with ‘pain and torture’ again, cause those fancy words almost makes it sounds like he was giving me a fucking gift.” But Bucky continued to smile, his quirky sense of humor kicking back in.

The therapist continued to smile; he didn’t get to see this Bucky very often, a glimpse into who the man was before Rumlow. Riley treasured every single one of these moments. “Alright, alright. Ya caught me. I won’t ever say those words again.”

Leaning towards Riley, Bucky seemed to sober once more, asking softly, “You think Steve and Sam are going to lose their jobs over this? Fisk wants them fired.”

Riley nodded grimly, all traces of a smile wiped from his face. “I don’t know, Bucky. But this is serious. They very well could. They let their emotions blind them and missed the lead that was literally staring them straight in the face.”

Bucky slipped his right hand over his face and sighed into it. His shoulders slumped, and he seemed to sag slightly in sudden exhaustion. “Damn, every time I go near Steve, something happens. He’s better off without me,” he whimpered.

“This has nothing to do with you being near Steve, Bucky. You know I love both those boys dearly, but they did screw up. Sam was so caught up in himself, and he wanted to prove a point to Steve. They didn’t even know you were missing. They let Rumlow go on for far longer than they should’ve.”

At that, Bucky’s head shot up. “Didn’t know I was missing? But Steve came looking for me . . .” he felt confusion rise.

The blond winced, knowing he’d said too much. Taking a deep breath, there wasn’t any going back now, “Uh . . . well they went to Rumlow’s place . . . looking to save him.”

“From me . . .” Bucky finished, surprised, though he wasn’t quite sure why he should still be surprised. They’d thought he had been the killer, not Rumlow.

“Yeah . . . after Rumlow killed his ex-wife, well at the time, they thought you did . . . but they figured he was next. That’s when they saw your backpack and prosthetic.” Riley explained, really wishing he hadn’t slipped up in the first place.

“And then they realized I was a victim and that Rumlow had kidnapped Fisk, too?” Bucky tilted his head, still weary, still tired, but interested in the explanation that had been withheld before.

The ex-paratrooper nodded once, “Well, yes and no. That’s when they knew he had taken you . . . they didn’t know about Fisk until the bastard nearly knocked down a door onto Steve’s face.”

“And Steve found me . . .” Bucky murmured, a question in his voice. “I’m not making that bit up, right? I do remember him coming in and saving me, but I’m not sure sometimes what’s truth and what’s a dream, Riley.”

“Steve found you, from what Sam’s told me, he carried you out of the house, against the advice of the paramedics and into the back of the ambulance. Never left your side until you were rushed into surgery. Even then he wouldn’t leave the hospital.” Riley said, staring intently at the brunet.

“And then I attacked Steve,” Bucky whispered into his hand, almost inaudibly. Somehow this latest development had wiped out most of his anger and hurt from Steve’s unfounded accusations, his support of Sam’s twisted theory and research. He felt more disgusting, more broken than ever before . . . he’d almost hoped the rescue had been a dream since he’d found himself nude on the floor and Steve on the bed . . . and realized he’d pretty much forced Steve, honorable, beautiful Steve, into such a situation . . . like Rumlow.

“We’ve been over this, Buck. You didn’t attack Steve. That is not what happened. It was a bad situation all around, and I wish he would have had the mind to call me, so it would’ve been avoided . . . but,” Riley shrugged.

“But, he blames me anyway, Riley, and isn’t that bad enough?” Bucky leapt to his feet with a soft growl, stomping across the room in his despair.

Following Bucky across the room, Riley said in a calm tone, “He doesn’t blame you. If anything he blames himself. He knows what he did was wrong.”

Bucky whirled around. “I heard him, Riley. I heard him tell you he didn’t want to be near me.” Bucky turned and thrust his bedroom door open and went inside, letting it swing shut behind him, though it did bounce back open a small amount.

Riley pushed the door open and stood in the doorway, not wanting to cross into Bucky’s safe area. He watched as Bucky collapsed on the bed and began to sob. “Buck . . . you missed what got him to say that. He was upset that I didn’t tell him what could happen, he was shocked, that’s all.”

“I . . . still . . . love . . . him,” Bucky sobbed into his arm, unable to hold the tears, the horror at himself, the hopelessness of the situation back any longer.

The therapist fought the urge to run over to the bed. He wouldn’t go into the room unless Bucky invited him in. “I know you do, Bucky. I know. He loves you, too.” Riley called out, not sure if the brunet heard him over his wailing.

Pulling his tear streaked face from the crook of his right arm, Bucky turned his face towards Riley. “I told him to find someone else, Riley, and he found Sharon.” He wiped his shaking hand over his eyes, shoulders slumped in defeat. “I drove him away . . . so many times.”

The blond wanted to tell Bucky how it was obvious that Steve still had feelings for him, that Sharon was a distraction so that Steve wouldn’t have to deal with his feelings anymore; but Riley bit his tongue. Bucky and Steve would need to figure out their relationship on their own, even if it pained the therapist to see his patient so hurt. “You never know, Buck. Things change. And you needed space to deal with the trauma you had experienced.”

Outside the bedroom door, Tony turned to Wade and shrugged, his face twisted in sad lines. Very quietly, he said “And now you see what I mean by broken. Bucky-boy needs a lot of fixing, Wade-o.” And the inventor turned back towards his shop.

Wade shook his head, “He ain’t broken, just bent.” He made his way over to where Riley stood and called out, ignoring the confused look the blond shot his way, “Heya, Sarge. I was thinking about going to the range tomorrow . . . wanna get an early start on it?” The mercenary knew that the brunet needed to get his mind off things, especially tall, blond, handsome things.

After a long moment of thought, Bucky pushed from the mattress, the muscles in his weak hand and wrist straining, though he ignored the weakness. “Yeah, if Tony’s got my arm ready, I’ll tag along, Wade.” Bucky’s voice sounded faint but determined. If he couldn’t win back Steve, he could damn well destroy Rumlow . . . and that fat bastard, Fisk.

“I think Wonder Boy was just puttin’ the final touches on it. Should be ready to go soon.” Wade smiled, his distraction obviously working its magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos and comments! We love hearing what ya'll are thinking!


	6. Bodyguards and Break-Ups

Steve slammed the phone down on his desk, without answering it, and threw his head down to rest on his hands. His partner let out a loud sigh as the phone began to ring on _his_ desk; the blond raised his head to glare at the phone, hoping it would spontaneously combust.

“I need to get outta here.” Sam groaned rushing to his feet, “I can’t listen to another phone go off. Jesus,” Sam exclaimed, running his hand through his hair, “I hate this! We should be working on our case, not stuck at our desks, trying to avoid the swarm of journalists that are gathered outside the precinct.”

Standing up, Steve cracked his back, a kink seeming to tighten in his lower back ever since the news conference with Fisk. The day had started off bad and had only continued to get worse. The blond had a pounding headache and he wished he’d never gotten out of bed this morning.

Before the partners could leave, or answer another phone, or even say another thing to one another, Fury came from his office looking outraged. “Wilson! Rogers! My office!”

Steve hung his head and let out a deep sigh. He’d known that it was only a matter of time before their Captain called them into his office.

“Damn,” Sam murmured, glancing at Steve. “Busted, brother.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Steve groaned as he started walking towards the room that only seemed to be used as a place to be yelled at.

Sam nodded and turned to follow his partner into their commander’s office. Once in the office, the detective stood beside Steve in front of Captain Fury, who looked like he was about to blow a vein in his head.

The tall dark-skinned commander crossed his arms and didn’t say a word, merely glaring at both men. Behind him a repeat of Fisk’s claims and the revelation of Bucky’s attack played over two different television stations on two different large screens. After the loop began back at the beginning, Fury said “well? What did you leave out of your report?” His voice sounded just below a full blown growl.

“Sir . . . what happened to Fisk was not our fault! He’s just doing all this to stay in the spotlight!” Steve threw his hands in the air, his voice rising with frustration.

“You think I’m a fuckin’ idiot, Rogers? Of course Fisk is using this. I’m talking about why he thinks he can pin his kidnapping on you guys when no one had any damn clue someone wanted to steal a fat fuck like him to begin with.”

The blond detective let out a loud huff, “How are we supposed to know? The guy is obviously nuts, he ran his mouth just so that he’d be in the news again.” Steve was furious, not only had Fisk threatened both his and Sam’s jobs but the politician had shared with the whole world about what Bucky had been through.

“Did we see the same news report, Rogers? That bastard is calling for blood! He wants your badges, both of you. And that means he wants you fired, stripped of everything. And I’ll be out two of my best detectives. Tell me you had no clue Rumlow wanted to mess with Fisk . . . it was your case, surely you would have seen something?” Fury growled now, turning towards Sam then back to Steve.

“Rumlow was going after the crime lord Kingpin. We had reason to believe that Kingpin could’ve been Fisk; but there was no solid evidence linking Fisk to Kingpin,” Steve explained, trying to keep his temper in check.

Fury nodded. “Now we’re thinking like cops. So, there was a chance Fisk was a target since everyone seems to agree, without admitting anything, that Fisk is this Kingpin clown, right?”

Sam sighed. “There was a chance, but if we couldn’t link him, how could Rumlow?”

“Rumlow had other means . . . illegal ways of obtaining information.” Steve ventured.

“Okay, so our contacts didn’t come through for us? Maybe knocking on doors took more effort than writing up crime scenes?” Fury mused as he lifted his hand. “Don’t even bother answering that. Just tell me, please, that Barnes is pressing charges of Invasion of Privacy and Public Defamation and such against the fat bastard?”

“Bu- -Barnes is probably afraid of what Fisk would do if he did press charges. He’s still recovering, Captain.” Steve said, not knowing what Bucky planned to do.

With a sigh, Fury strode to the window overlooking the city below. He nodded. “So, his new boyfriend, Stark, ain’t helpin’ him, is that right? That guy could afford more legal fees and bad publicity than Fisk could dream of.”

Shrugging, trying not the flinch at the mention of Stark being Bucky’s _boyfriend_ , Steve muttered, “All I know is that Stark is gonna help with some sort of protection detail. Haven’t talked to him since the news aired.”

Fury swung around, uncrossing his arms to point at Steve then Sam. “Great, you both are on Admin Leave until I can get this cleared.” He strode over to his television remote, turning the sound up so that they would not be overheard. “But, I gotta job for you . . . off the record,” he finished in a soft growl.

Steve’s eyes widened considerably, “Off the record, Sir?”

Nick Fury walked over to the detectives and said, evenly, “You are now Barnes’ protective detail. Shadow Fisk, hunt Rumlow, do whatever it takes to keep that boy safe. He’s our best witness against both Rumlow and Fisk. If he’s gone, our case is gone . . . he’s the only one who lived and saw the perp’s face.”

The blond’s stomach churned at the thought of seeing Bucky again. Steve wasn’t sure if he would be able to be in the same room as the journalist; the shame that he felt over their last encounter overwhelmed him. However, he nodded; knowing that he needed to keep Bucky safe, if he only had one job left in the world, it would be to keep Bucky safe.

Fury nodded as Sam softly agreed. “That’s not it. I need you to find out who Rumlow’s new friend is . . . your last report said there were two in McCoy’s murder? Find out who the bastard is, and don’t go pinning it on anyone without a real workup, Wilson.” He glared at Sam who stiffened. “Wilson, work the research, since you’re good at it. Start with Fisk and Rumlow and go from there. Rogers, work with Stark. Keep my informant alive. I’ll take care of the politicians . . . again,” he snarled and turned back to his televisions, watching yet again as Fisk exposed Barnes’s attack to the world.

“Yes, Sir.” Steve answered, the last thing he wanted to do was work with Tony Stark. However, Bucky lived with Tony, and Steve seemed to be Bucky’s new personal bodyguard.

“And this is off the record, Sir?” Sam asked, sounding a bit worried. “We won’’t have the resources . . .”

Fury whirled around and growled, “then find them. Stark’s always saying he wants to fund the force. See if you can get him to work on this without giving too much away! Now, unless you pair have any more bright questions, get to work.” As Fury slammed his door open he yelled out “drop your badges and guns with Admin on the way out. I’ll see you’re called if this ever gets sorted!”

As Steve passed by Fury, the man grabbed his arm and growled in his ear “Have Wilson keep an eye on Barton . . . our other survivor.”

“Of course.” Steve murmured; he hadn’t even thought that Clint could be in danger as well. This mess seemed to get worse and worse as the day went on. The blond continued walking out of the office and jogged over to catch up with his partner who stood by their desks.

Sam sighed, grabbing a paper box and dumping the reams on the floor then started putting things in the box, including slipping in a couple of files he probably had no right to anymore. He didn’t look at anyone else and everyone else tried to avoid making eye contact with the two humiliated, disciplined officers.

Steve did the same, emptying some of his things into a box and grabbing the picture he still had of him and Bucky that sat on the desk. Once satisfied, Steve groaned, “I hate this. How are we supposed to do our jobs . . . when technically we were practically fired.”

Sam nodded his agreement with the blond. “We can’t do our jobs,” he said, voice low, a warning. “That’s what admin leave is all about. Someone else will be working the X-Killer now.” He pulled his gun from his shoulder holster and took his badge from his pocket. “Let’s get this over with. I guess I could take up a hobby . . . like graphic arts or something.” He shrugged and turned to carry his box towards the desk where they would drop off their police identities and sign the leave papers. Leave without pay was going to make things rough for the pair.

Nodding, Steve followed his partner over to Administration where both men handed over their badges and guns. Once officially on leave and out of the building, the blond turned to his friend, “Well . . . you could always learn some of those new recipes you’ve been wanting to try. Riley’ll be happy.”

“Hah,” Sam snorted. “Riley’ll kick my ass if I don’t write a cookbook if I start exploring new recipes.” He eyed Steve and nodded to his car, opening the trunk to put his box inside. After his arms were empty, Sam slid into the passenger seat and waited for Steve to join him.

Steve set down his box next to Sam’s and slammed the trunk shut. He went over to the driver’s seat and collapsed into the leather with a huff.

Once Steve sat down, doors shut, Sam tossed him the car keys and nodded for him to start the vehicle. He had an intense look in his eyes.

Starting the car, and putting the vehicle in reverse, Steve finally felt like he could speak freely. “How are we gonna track these guys when we don’t have any resources to do so? What if Bucky doesn’t want anything to do with me?”

With a nod, Sam relaxed, too, now that their voices had been covered by the engine. “Okay, regroup, Steve. Our goals are to find out Fisk’s link with Rumlow, and how the hell he was kidnapped under our noses. We need to locate Rumlow and his new partner, whoever the guy or girl is. And we’ve got to keep Bucky safe. Anything else?” He looked out the rearview to make sure no one tailed them then relaxed again.

Pulling onto the expressway that led in the direction of both their houses, Steve shook his head. “Fury wants you to protect Barton when him and Nat get back from the honeymoon. Clint’s also a survivor of Rumlow’s attacks.”

“Damn,” Sam swore. “That means I can’t go to the Bahamas and start now?” he joked. Gesturing to the turn off for Steve’s house, he said “go to your place first, Steve. If you’ve got to try to get into Stark tower, you’re going to need a plan of attack to get on Tony Stark’s good side.”

Snorting, Steve pulled off the freeway, “Stark doesn’t have a good side. He is probably one of the most selfish people I know. He’s using Bucky. Tony knows how easy it is to manipulate him right now.”

“How’s he manipulating Bucky? What could Stark possibly want that Bucky could give him, Steve?” Sam sounded genuinely puzzled. “And how are you going to tell Sharon you need to cut back even more on the dates since you can’t tell her about the protection detail.”

He shot his partner a glare; the last thing he needed right now was to worry about Sharon. Of course the question did have merit, “God . . . didn’t even think about that. She’s gonna be so mad . . . I can’t tell her that I’m protecting Bucky. She’ll only get the wrong impression.”

As the car pulled to a stop in front of Steve’s townhouse, the presence of Sharon’s car sat like a large white ape in the street parking space. “Better come up with something, Steve. There she is,” Sam whispered.

Cursing under his breath, Steve turned off the car and slowly got out. Trying to put as much time between him and Sharon as he could. Though he did smile slightly as he got closer; she looked beautiful.

Smiling, Sharon stood from where she leaned against her bumper. She wore her prettiest blue shirt and skirt set with heels and glittering earrings. Her blond hair had been pulled into a curling ponytail that hung down to brush her shoulders. She was dressed in her _‘hot date’_ outfit. “Hey, Steve,” she called with a small wave, walking towards him. “You’re a little earlier than I expected. Eager for tonight?”

Steve assumed by her chipper attitude that she hadn’t watched the news. The blond detective’s smile wavered as he scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Uh . . . yeah, about that . . .”

Her smile dropped immediately. Apparently, she knew that tone. “So, you’re busy with a new case? We have to take a rain check for _Fiorro’s_?”

“ _Something_ came up, Sharon. I wish I could tell you more. I am so sorry, but . . . Uh - - things are gonna get tough.” Steve suddenly wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He knew he was looking at not only one mad ex, but two.

Tilting her head, crossing her slender arms across her chest, Sharon frowned. “It isn’t something to do with our case, is it? The FBI doesn’t like it when the locals forget to share. Should I have skipped Spa Day and manned the radio or something?”

“Well . . . it is something to do with the case. Uh - - Sam and I . . .” He casted a quick, pleading look to his partner, wishing he’d jump in and save him.

Sam slid from the car and called softly, “Steve, take her inside and show her the news. She’ll need to see it sooner or later.” He frowned and nodded towards Steve’s home.

Nodding, the blond took Sharon’s hand and led her into the townhome. The front light being turned off made it difficult to slide the key into the lock; Steve hadn’t been able to turn it on since Bucky left. After a few moments, he opened the door and gestured for Sharon to step inside.

Worried, Sharon obeyed, stepping inside and flipping on the hall light then the living room light as she walked through the lonely seeming house. The detective shut the door behind him and followed Sharon into the living room where his only TV sat, mostly unused. Steve made quick work of turning it on and switching the channel to news.

Unfortunately, the story had been playing all day with little change, and it started yet again. As Sharon watched, she lost her confused posture, her attitude speaking of anger and distress. “My God!” she said as the news about Bucky came out, “how dare he!” She whirled to look at Steve. “So, you need to skip tonight to talk to Bucky?” she asked, nodding towards the television, eyes hurt though she tried to sound understanding.

“Well . . . yeah, I guess. But I promise you there is more to it than that! I wish I could tell you everything, but you’ll just have to trust me. I promise I’ll take you out sometime next week. We can go to that seafood place you like so much.” Steve’s tone sounded pleading, the detective didn’t think he could handle another break-up right now.

She sighed, listening until Steve stopped. Finally, she shook her head. “You think I’m so shallow I only care about dinner and a movie? That asshole just aired some very dirty laundry on a victim. He also gave away information from an ongoing case. Look, Steve, I want to help. I’m part of this case, too.”

Steve let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Really? You want to help? How are you gonna do that?”

Rolling her eyes, Sharon placed her hands on her hips. “Look, just because your ex-boyfriend is one of the victims doesn’t mean I don’t want to help him. He’s been through a lot, and now Rumlow knows he’s alive and probably has figured out he’s back in town. That puts Barnes at the top of a hit list, along with Barton when he gets back. We need to find a way to keep them safe while we hunt that asshole down, before he kills again.”

“Actually,” Steve started, his voice sounding unsure, “Sam and I got Rumlow. If you could look into Fisk - -”

“Sam’s right here,” Sam said from the doorway. He could have waited longer to interrupt, but he’d shown up anyway. “Look, Sharon, we need access to any information you’ve got: contacts, research, CCTV, anything.”

Turning with a frown, Sharon slowly said, “You already have access to everything, Sam . . . what’s going on?”

Sam shot a look at his partner then said, “You need to help us, but . . . we can’t tell anyone.”

Narrowing blue eyes, Sharon turned back to Steve. “Why?” She sounded like she suspected something, but wanted it spelled out for her.

Shooting another distressed look to Sam, Steve shifted nervously, “Sharon . . . you _know_ why. Please . . . if you wanna help, please do this for us . . . and don’t ask too many questions.”

“You’ve been put on leave?” She asked, but her eyes said he’d already confirmed the answer. “I could lose my job, Steve, if I give you anything.” She frowned and paced away from the men, stopping in front of the television. She watched the replay of the Fisk interview.

“And Bucky or Clint could be killed, Sharon. Both Sam and I are putting our jobs on the line. If you really wanna help, you’ll help us get those files. But we understand if you can’t.” Steve felt his head pound again and he pinched the bridge of his nose to lessen the pressure building up.

She shook her head and said softly. “I’m not going to help you two break the law, Steve.” She looked at him. “I’m going to move into here as a headquarters for my search for Bucky and Clint’s attacker . . . or is there a better HQ I could use?” Her eyes pleaded with Steve for help in this very illegal offer.

Steve’s eyes widened; the last person to live with him had been Bucky, and that relationship had ended badly. The detective could think of a million reasons why he shouldn’t allow Sharon to move in . . . but he found himself nodding in agreement to the offer. “No, here’ll be good.”

“Maybe not,” Sam hedged, trying to say something to Steve with his eyes.

As if reading his partner’s mind, Steve started shaking his head. “No way, Sam. Not a chance in hell.”

“But Rumlow is going to be watching this place, Steve. Anyone who moves in with you becomes an instant target.” Sam spread his hands as if his point was obvious. “And he’s got security. No one knows who lives there, Steve. A guy or two could disappear there and Rumlow would never know it.

“Who? Where?” Sharon asked, looking from one man to the other.

Groaning and throwing his head back, Steve knew that what Sam said made sense. “He wants you to set up HQ at Stark’s tower.” The blond detective knew his tone sounded incredibly whiny.

“Tony Stark?” Sharon asked, surprised. “Bucky’s boyfriend?” She looked doubtful, though she obviously considered the merits. “Uh, and Tony’s cool with his boyfriend’s ex moving in?”

Steve felt his stomach sink even further, “I don’t know! I doubt Stark is cool with anything to do with me. But if he wants to protect Bucky then neither one of us may have a choice in the matter.”

“We should go talk to him then,” Sharon determined.

Wade, who’d been hiding in the shadows that the drapes seemed to offer, stepped into the living area, “Wonder Boy will be _thrilled_ to have guests.”

Sam reached for his gun and swore when he found the holster empty, apparently recalling too late that he’d had to give his weapon up.

“Wilson?” Steve asked, “How the hell are you in my apartment.”

At the name, Sam straightened and forced a small smile which didn’t reach his eyes. “So, you’re my brother from another mother . . . and father . . . huh?”

Grinning, Wade outstretched his hands, “Guess so. I just left from Stark’s. Wanted to see Bucky-Boy. But I gotta say, Stark has a hell of a lot of technology that could help with your man hunt.”

Nodding, Sam turned to Steve. “Another plus in getting in good with Stark. And, if we’re lucky, we might even convince him to let Riley move in. Then I only have to worry about Barton when he gets back.”

“You saw Bucky?” Steve mused, his tone a little distracted, “H-how was he doing?”

Shrugging, Wade’s smile faltered a bit, “Doin’ as well as to be expected I suppose. With Riley right now. We were able to calm him down enough so he could try and eat something.”

Sam looked at Steve. “Maybe we need to bring this meeting over to Stark’s right away, Steve? We’ve got someone with an in,” he gestured to Wade. “And we can see if our favorite police philanthropist wants to really help the boys in blue.”

“Alright,” Steve groaned, “Let’s all go visit one of the richest men in the world. I’ll drive.”

**************

“Sir, there are visitors in the elevator.”

“What?” Tony looked up from where he’d just finished attaching Bucky’s prosthetic. “But they didn’t even knock!” He shook his head. “Yo, Riles, man, get that would ya? I’ve got my hands full.” He offered Bucky a grin and added, “all three of them.”

Bucky groaned.

The therapist stood up from where he’d been sitting, watching the long, painful looking process of Tony reattaching Bucky’s arm and walked into the main living area. Riley felt emotionally and physically drained, and he could really kill for a bubble bath.

On a soft whoosh, the elevator opened directly into a large marble foyer and Jarvis intoned “you have arrived, Sirs, Madam.”

Sam stepped out first, and offered Riley a worried smile. “Hey, babe. Gotta talk.”

“Sam? Steve?” Riley called out, and his eyes immediately focused on his boyfriend’s holster that was currently empty. “What happened? Is this something to do with Fisk?”

Nodding, Sam stepped over to his boyfriend and softly said “Steve and I are on unpaid leave, officially.” He fell silent, letting that last work speak volumes.

Quirking an eyebrow, Riley whispered, “And unofficially?”

“Protection detail and research, if we can arrange it. We need Stark’s help.” Sam’s voice came barely above a whisper. “And we’ve brought friends for the party,” he offered, his voice rising. “Is Tony home?”

Nodding, Riley led the group into the lab area where Bucky and Tony currently ran through a series of tests for the prosthetic. “Tony? Bucky? We got some company,” Riley called and then slumped into one of the stools.

“No,” Bucky said without even looking up, but Tony grinned and looked up. His eyes fell on the only female in the group and he rose, absently patting Bucky’s arm. “Sure. Welcome to my tower. I’m Tony,” he offered a hand to Sharon, ignoring the men effectively, to the point of being unaware Steve was among them.

Smiling, Sharon extended her hand, “Sharon Carter. Your home is quite impressive, Mr. Stark.”

He laughed and enclosed her hand in his warm one, lifting it for a light kiss to the back of it. “Tony, please. I can show you more than a couple of rooms if you’ve got time, Sharon?” He gestured towards a room with an open door and a bank of computers. “What do I owe this pleasure to?”

Sharon wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but she felt her cheeks flush, and she let out a small laugh, “We were hoping you’d be able to help us, Tony.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and stood, moving out of the lab so he could avoid Tony flirting with Steve’s girlfriend. He stopped short when he saw Steve actually standing there before him, next to Riley, Sam, and Wade . . . but there was Steve. He blinked, curling his right arm up against his chest, eyes widening, unsure what to say or do. Last time they’d met, he’d attacked the blond man, no matter what everyone said. Bucky hadn’t been mistaken at the distress he’d overheard in Steve’s tones. The brunet licked his lips and rasped out “Steve . . .”

“Heya, Buck.” Steve blushed under the brunet’s gaze. “How’re you doin’?”

Swallowing, Bucky straightened and looked over the rest of the group. He then centered on Steve again. “I’ve been better . . . but . . .” he took a breath and threw back his shoulders, a look of sudden defiance coming over him as he saw Wade over Steve’s shoulder. “Fisk won’t beat me down with his pathetic sob stories for votes.”

Wade smiled at Bucky, a small swell of pride blooming in his chest. Steve smiled as well, but he knew it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Good, we’re gonna do everything we can to bring the bastard down,” Steve’s tone hardened slightly, but he caught himself, not wanting to scare the journalist.

Bucky nodded. “Why’d you come here?” He looked towards Tony and Sharon apparently flirting in the computer room then back to Steve. “Tony looks at anything breathing as fair game, Steve,” he tried to warn his ex-boyfriend about the rival.

Somehow, Steve couldn’t find it in himself to care about Tony flirting with Sharon. His eyes never leaving Bucky, the blond shrugged, “I think I can handle a little competition . . . the question is, can he?”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders, feeling more balanced, and not just because of having two arms again. This group was small and the reporter knew all of them; there were no threats in the vicinity and so Bucky could relax his guard a bit. Besides, with the group there, everyone had his back . . . even Tony in his own distracted way. “I think Tony’s too interested in himself to notice anyone else, actually. Did you come just to give Sharon a tour . . . or check on me . . . or some other reason?” Bucky met Steve’s eyes and fell silent, unaware that he started becoming lost in those vivid blue depths.

“Like Sharon said, we need his help.” Steve forced his eyes away from Bucky and finally onto Tony and Sharon, “That is if he’d stop flirting with my girlfriend long enough so we can ask him.”

Bucky dropped his eyes and sighed softly then nodded, turning towards Tony and Sharon. Over his shoulder he asked, almost absently, “what do you want to ask him for?”

“A few favors,” Steve stated, wincing slightly; he hated keeping secrets from Bucky, but he didn’t want to freak the brunet out more than he already was.

Glancing over his shoulder, Bucky gave a near exasperated look at the beautiful blond man. “I can’t ask him for empty favors, Steve. Gotta give me something to work with here? You need cash? Robotics? Weapons? What?”

“Uh . . . all of the above. Look, Buck, we need help on a case. _Your_ case.” Steve wasn’t sure he wanted Bucky to ask Tony for anything; he wasn’t sure if the billionaire made people pay for the favors he gave out.

Interest lit Bucky’s eyes. He may be on sabbatical, but his reporter’s instincts still kicked in and he felt a major story. Of course, he wasn’t going to be writing anything up, but he still considered seriously asking to join in . . . from the safety of Tony’s tower, of course. “So, it’s Rumlow? Or did we just add the blimp to the perps like we suspected originally?” He felt like he could really do something, take back his safety maybe.

“Rumlow . . . Fisk . . . maybe someone else.” Steve said, his heart racing at the spark in Bucky’s steel-blue eyes, a spark that had been missing for months.

“Someone else?” That was something new, and Bucky instinctively moved closer to Steve for more information, much as he used to long ago when edging for a story from his favorite detective. He was unaware of Sam or Riley or Wade watching them, too interested in what the blond man might tell him, might give him.

The blond detective smirked at the familiar tactics that the reporter used. “Oh . . . ya’ know. A partner?”

“Partner?” Bucky looked thoughtful. He cleared his throat, aware he was becoming hoarse from the increased talking after such long disuse. “Uh,” looking back at the other men, he gestured towards the bar area at the far side of the comfortable room. “Drinks anyone?” Bucky headed over there and looked down at his clenched right fist. Nodding, keeping his injured arm from view as much as possible, Bucky ducked behind the bar to fish out his medicine while he was at it.

Sam looked at Riley and Wade. “Shall we make ourselves comfortable?” He looked over at Steve but didn’t interfere with his partner’s work. The man seemed to have hit an in by going to Bucky, so maybe they could get Tony’s help easily.

Riley smiled at his boyfriend. Bucky seemed like he was doing okay and it looked like, between Wade and Steve, that the journalist was starting to feel comfortable with himself again. The therapist leaned in close and whispered into his boyfriend’s ear, “I hear that one of Tony’s guest bathrooms has a huge tub . . . care to join me?”

Sam grinned at him. “Think he’d mind if we got cleaned up? I just got off work.”

“We wouldn’t want to offend Stark . . . gotta be clean for dinner, right?” Riley kissed the spot behind Sam’s ear that he knew drove the detective nuts.

With a soft growling purr, Sam wrapped an arm around Riley and walked him off in search of the promised tub, taking advantage of Tony’s open generosity without really thinking about it.

Standing, his muscle relaxant in his left hand, Bucky looked back across the room and his eyes widened. Only Steve and Wade remained in the room. “Um . . . drinks?” He reached for a long glass to place on the counter and looked for the nozzle that connected to the water.

Wade smiled, “Actually, Bucky-Boy, I gotta go take care of some stuff. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m picking ya up at eleven.”

Without thinking about his words, Bucky nodded. “It’s a date, Wade. Tomorrow.”

The mercenary grinned and held up two fingers to lazily salute the brunet. “See ya tomorrow, Sarge.” And with that, he turned on his heels and walked out of the room.

Bucky nodded, finally finding the water. He placed the pill bottle on the counter then carefully filled the glass with the iced water, the control in his left hand better than ever. A small smile of pride at his control crossed the reporter’s face. From a really shit day, things had turned out well.

Steve cleared his throat as he walked up to the bar, “So you and Wilson, huh?”

“What?” Bucky looked up, eyes confused. “What about us?”

“Well . . . do you . . . uh- fondue?” Steve flinched as the words tumbled out of his mouth, he’d always been bad at this sort of thing.

“Fondue?” Bucky tilted his head, still confused. “I don’t know if Wade likes things melted . . . “

Groaning, Steve realized what he had just said and smacked himself on the forehead. “God . . . no - - I mean . . . are you two - - like together?”

“Together? Wade and me?” Bucky looked surprised at the very idea. He frowned. “Why? You think he’d hurt me or something?”

“No!” Steve tried desperately to save this conversation from tumbling out of control, “No . . . I actually think he’s good . . . for you, you seem happier around him.”

“Huh,” Bucky shook his head and eyed the pill bottle then his curled right hand, which had already fully stiffened. He’d need the full dose tonight. “I thought you wanted to arrest him for being a mercenary, Steve,” the reporter reminded the detective of the first time Wade and Steve had met.

“I did . . . but that was before - -” Steve shook his head, “Ya’ know what? Just forget I said anything.”

Bucky looked up, studying the blond. Slowly, he said “Wade is going to help me relearn to shoot. I’m his Sergeant . . . that’s it,” he kept his voice soft, watching Steve’s reaction.

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed, “Shoot? You mean . . . like a rifle?”

Bucky nodded slowly. “Yeah. Like with a rifle. Obviously I haven’t done it for awhile, and I can’t use my right to balance anymore, but he thinks he can teach me to shoot backwards . . .” Bucky fell quiet, reminded of the same argument he’d given Riley that morning. Slowly, he asked “Drink, Steve? Tony keeps the bar well stocked.”

“Huh,” Steve mused, “Well, I think it’s a good idea. It’ll be good for you.” The blond paused for a moment.

“It was Wade’s idea. Wish I’d thought of it for myself,” Bucky murmured into the silence. “Maybe I can get that bastard . . .” his voice dropped off.

“Bucky . . .” Steve trailed, his voice lowering, “You can’t honestly be thinking about going after Rumlow.”

Steel-blue eyes met vibrant blue and Bucky stiffened. “Who said anything about Rumlow? I meant that fat fart with the big mouth.” After a second or two, Bucky offered his grin, to let Steve know he was joking . . . sort of. “I figured you want after Rumlow for a lot more than me.” He looked back at his still unopened pill bottle and squatted down, beginning to sort for a second bottle.

Steve made a noise of confusion, “What’s that supposed to mean, Buck?”

Making a frustrated noise, Bucky finally dropped the calm demeanor. He looked up from his squat. “He’s a serial killer and he’s your man. And he’s cost you and Sam your jobs. He’s got Fisk after you now, and having the Kingpin on your ass is this shy of being dead. I think Rumlow’s the least of your problems but the cause of all of them.” He narrowed his eyes to watch Steve, left hand still in the duffle with the array of pill bottles.

The blond sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. How come all he and Bucky could do now was fight? “Look, Buck. Out of anyone, you deserve to be the one to take Rumlow down; but I cannot let you go after him or Fisk for that matter. It’s too dangerous.”

A sharp laugh escaped the reporter and he shook his head. “You think I’m learning to shoot again so I can go vigilante? God, Steve, you’ve been hanging out with Sam too much. I plan to learn so I can take the next bastard down who comes after me. If that’s Rumlow or Fisk, I won’t cry about it, either. I want to feel safe, and Wade’s come up with the first real solution so far.” He looked back into the bag and swore. “Damn it! Where’s my meds?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve sighed and walked around the bar, crouching down next to Bucky. “Do you need any help?”

Bucky lifted his eyes to meet Steve’s and he drew in his breath. Slowly, he nodded and softly said, “I can’t find my anxiety meds, Steve.”

Nodding, Steve sifted through the bag for a moment before his eye caught on something under the bar. Reaching out slowly, to avoid spooking Bucky, Steve grabbed a small plastic bottle and handed them to the brunet, “Are these them?”

His eyes followed Steve’s every move and at the presented bottle, relief filled his eyes. “Yes,” he breathed, already sounding a little more in control. “Can you . . . can you open them for me? And the muscle relaxant on the counter?” He looked at the useless limb. “My right seized up.” Bucky sighed. “My doctor’s pissed at me for cutting back, but . . .” he shrugged, not going into the entire argument with his doctor over the use of his meds.

Steve grinned and grabbed both of the bottles. Effortlessly he opened them and handed the recommended doses over to Bucky, “Always been so stubborn.” The blond chuckled lightly.

Bucky pushed off the floor with his left hand and rose to a standing position, leaning slightly on the bar to regain his balance. He huffed slightly, “I don’t need to be drugged senseless, Steve. I gave up alcohol for a reason, too.” He reached for his water glass. Bucky tossed the pills in his mouth and downed about a quarter of his water.

Rising to his feet, Steve tilted his head, “The doctors tell you doses for a reason, Buck. They know how much you need for the meds to be effective. And you gave up alcohol? You never had a problem with it . . . did you?”

With a sigh, Bucky nodded, still leaning against the bartop. He looked at his hand. “I guess . . . but I never liked drugs. I . . .” he looked at Steve, eyes worried. “I don’t want to be addicted. Too many people were strung out at the hos . . . at Becca’s.” He looked away.

Blue eyes softening, Steve had assumed that Bucky had been at a hospital while he was down in Florida, but hearing it made his heart ache. “It’s okay, Buck. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Ashamed?” Bucky turned back to Steve. “What? Like being afraid of the dark like a five year old? Like being unable to walk into a crowded place without panicking? Like not even being able to go for coffee without forgetting half the day?” His voice turned bitter as he listed some of his problems then softened to almost inaudible. “Like attacking someone who’s trying to help me?”

“Buck . . .” Steve’s tone softened, “You didn’t attack me. I promise that you didn’t, I know you don’t remember what happened . . . but - - I . . . I did everything willingly.”

Bucky met Steve’s eyes, surprise in his own. “It’s okay, Steve. I do remember what you told Riley. I . . .” he took a slow breath, “I have no intention of forcing you to be alone with me when I’m so far gone again. I’ll take my doses like I’m supposed to.”

“God, Buck!” Steve exclaimed, but instantly lowered his tone to avoid anyone hearing, “ _I made love to you._ You understand that right? I feel horrible because you weren’t all there, but in that moment . . . it was like it used to be. I was so caught up in the fact that you wanted me, that I didn’t see the signs you were showing me. I - - you didn’t attack me. Please, if you get anything from this, get that.”

Eyes confused, brows knitted, Bucky listened silently as Steve talked. Slowly, an idea seemed to sink in and his eyes widened. Before Steve could finish stammering out his apology, Bucky brought his left hand up to the blond’s cheek and stroked carefully with the cold metal. “Steve?”

His voice barely above a whisper, Steve stared into Bucky’s eyes, “Yeah, Buck?”

Bucky leaned forward and gently brushed his lips over Steve’s, sighing at the soft touch he missed so much. His eyes fluttered closed.

Steve closed his eyes, this was nothing like the kiss that they’d shared earlier that morning. Bucky was here, he wasn’t desperate, this was actually Bucky kissing him. Steve’s hand moved to the small of the brunet’s back and pulled him in close.

With a small whimper, Bucky let Steve pull him close, leaning into the kiss, deepening it. He slanted his head to seal their mouths better, running the tip of his tongue over the seam of Steve’s lips. Without thinking, Bucky’s right hand came up to curl awkwardly against Steve’s chest.

The blond opened his mouth slightly and allowed Bucky’s tongue to explore. The brunet was initiating everything; Steve knew Bucky was lucid. He wasn’t having a panic attack.

With a pleased whimper, Bucky slid his tongue into Steve’s mouth. He ran his tongue over Steve’s and nipped very gently at the other man’s lips.

“Steve?!” Sharon shouted, her voice quivering slightly in anger.

“Bucky? How could you?” Tony’s voice followed on Sharon’s. He sounded horrified. “He’s the one who gives you nightmares, baby!”

The blond detective pulled away but kept his hand resting on Bucky’s back. “Sharon? Please, you have to understand.”

Letting his face drop to Steve’s muscular chest, Bucky sighed. “Steve never gives me nightmares, Tony!”

“Yes, he does,” Tony seemed oblivious to Sharon and Steve as he moved towards his roommate. “Every damn night I hear you cry out for him. I wait outside your door wondering if I should break the rules and rush in there just to help you out! Jarvis has threatened to lock me out if I try,” he whined.

Steve tightened his grip on Bucky, trying to keep the brunet grounded, but his heart ached slightly at the look of utter betrayal on Sharon’s face. The detective turned his attention to the inventor, “Do not raise your voice to him, Tony.”

“What?” Tony blinked and looked at Steve. “I didn’t raise my voice.” He looked at Sharon. “Did I raise my voice?”

Sharon didn’t respond, instead she stared at Steve and then at Bucky. Her heart shattering into a million pieces. She took a deep breath. She knew that the two men were meant for each other; Steve had never looked at her like the way he looked at Bucky. She wanted Steve to be happy, and his happiness was Bucky.

Bucky finally lifted his head. “Tony, I cry out for Steve because he’s the only one who can chase away the nightmares. And Jarvis is right to lock you out of my room. You promised I could have a room where even you didn’t go in without an invite . . . you swore it when I moved in so you could experiment with my arm at your leisure.” He looked at Sharon and his eyes softened, looking sad. “I’m sorry, Sharon. I didn’t mean to do this to you. Really.” He shook his head. “I thought I could let Steve go.”

Nodding once, Sharon forced herself to smile, though it looked a little pained, she looked at Steve and then back at Bucky, “The thing is . . . he could never let you go, Bucky. I’m sorry I kept him from you. I hope you know how much that man loves you.” She took a deep, quivering breath.

One loud clap of hands had Bucky jumping, clutching at Steve with his metal hand, his right hand spasming, but Tony seemed unaware he’d startled his roommate. “Well, since we’re both broken hearted, Sharon, what say I treat you to a seafood dinner at _Fiorro’s_ tonight. You’re certainly dressed for the place.” He turned and offered the blond FBI agent his arm.

Laughing slightly, although tears brimmed her eyes, Sharon gave Steve one last look. “Treat him right, Steve. I mean it . . .” taking another deep breath, she entwined her arm with Tony’s. “Alright, Tony. Let’s do this.”

With a charming smile, concentrating on the woman on his arm and ignoring all else, Tony guided her towards the door. Right before stepping into the elevator, he called “Jarvis, make sure our guests are too comfortable to leave tonight. We have to have a long talk tomorrow with all of them.” And he whisked the woman onto the elevator to Jarvis’s “very good, sir.”

Steve leaned over and pressed his lips to Bucky’s temple, lingering there just to make sure this wasn’t some dream . . . that Bucky was actually here with him.

A slow breath left Bucky’s lungs and he started relaxing from Tony’s startle. He leaned into Steve again, his right hand trembling slightly. Lifting his face, Bucky studied the detective’s features, eyes searching. “Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve smiled, his hand tracing the side of the brunet’s face as he tried to memorize everything about the journalist by his side, just in case this was all a dream and he’d wake up soon.

“Are you sure you want this? I’m pretty broken.” Bucky sounded worried, almost scared.

Kissing Bucky’s forehead and then his lips gently, Steve whispered, “Am I sure that I want to be with the man whom I love more than anything on this Earth? Yeah, I’m pretty damn sure.”

Bucky returned the soft kiss with a brush of his lips over Steve’s. “I’ll freak out again, you know? I . . . I have an awful long way to go before I’m even near recovered.” He kissed Steve’s mouth again, lingering, then breathed “God, I love you . . .”

Steve breathed into the kiss, not wanting this moment to end. “And I’ll be here . . . every step of the way. ‘Til the end of the line, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait guys! Please leave comments and kudos to tell us how you guys are liking the story!  
> See ya soon!


	7. Planning on Control

Chapter Seven: 

Steve rubbed his eyes and let out a yawn as Jarvis’ voice echoed throughout Bucky’s room. “Sirs, a meeting has been arranged in the breakfast room. You are requested to join the other guests in fifteen minutes time.”

The detective looked down to where Bucky laid curled up, his head resting on the blond’s chest. The brunet’s right hand, normally stiff, had relaxed and his metal arm sat on the charger on the desk. Steve ran his hand through the journalist’s short hair and whispered gently, “Buck, ya gotta get up. We’ve been _requested_.”

“Nope,” Bucky drawled on a lazy yawn. “You’ve been requested. I’m not a guest. I live here.” He stretched and turned as if going back to sleep.

“Jarvis?” Steve called out.

“Yes, Detective?” Jarvis intoned politely.

“Bucky’s been requested, too, right?” The blond smirked and ran his fingers down Bucky’s spine, caressing the skin.

With a soft purring type noise, Bucky arched into the gentle caress as Jarvis clarified. “Mr. Barnes has been requested, politely, by Mr. Stark, but he _‘isn’t gonna like it so make sure you’re nice about it, J?’_ I believe Mr. Stark said.” Jarvis’s voice came out slightly amused sounded, despite being a programmed computer.

Steve sat up and leaned over, trailing a line of kisses down Bucky’s neck and shoulder. “See?” The blond whispered.

“Okay, I’m up,” Bucky grumped, hiding his smile in his right arm. “But you have to give me more than fifteen minutes, Jarvis. I need that much just to get the arm back on without Tony’s help.” He sat up and stretched, his undershorts riding up his thighs from tossing a little in sleep, displaying his muscles as he stretched again. His normally styled hair stuck out in random tufts and the scars on his torso caught dully at the morning light from the window.

Watching Bucky with an amused smile, Steve didn’t think anyone could look as beautiful as Bucky did. “You’re beautiful, ya know that right?” Steve murmured, running his fingers down the brunet’s back again.

Bucky smiled in amazement at his . . . boyfriend? Were they back to that again or had last evening’s breakthrough been too quick, too soon? Bucky hazarded a guess and leaned over for a trial kiss. “Thanks, but you still need glasses, I’m thinking.”

Returning the kiss, Steve breathed, “Nope. I can see fine, got 20/20 vision. You’re beautiful.”

“And I have dragon breath,” Bucky muttered sliding over Steve and awkwardly sidling out of bed with one slightly limp hand and no counter-balance. He stretched again as his bare feet hit the floor and padded over to his arm. Checking the charge readouts, he snorted slightly. “At least it holds power better than the old one.” The leads his arm would connect to were very evident in Bucky’s pale skin, a reminder that he was, effectively, a human prototype in cybernetic engineering.

“Ya need any help?” Steve asked, rising to his feet, his eyes taking in all of Bucky’s body, from the tip of his head to the ends of his toes.

Nodding, Bucky offered Steve an almost shy smile. “Yeah, always need help with the arm, actually. Would be able to get it attached easier if I had two . . . but that would kind of make the entire operation moot, wouldn’t it?” He did his own long check over of Steve and sighed softly. He’d never thought he’d have Steve anywhere in his life again, not like this.

Chuckling softly, the blond made his way to where Bucky stood and offered his hands. “Whatcha need me to do, Buck?”

It took less than the predicted fifteen minutes for Bucky to talk Steve through attaching, balancing, and rechecking the new prosthetic. Tony had truly outdone himself. The plates on the arm moved smoothly and in such a way as to allow the arm to mimic a more skin-like movement, making the joint movements smoother, as well. Of course all the mechanics made a soft whirring noise, and the internal gears were always shifting and recalibrating as the connections monitored and reacted to Bucky’s neural implants, but overall, the arm was far more versatile, lightweight, and realistic . . . even if it shone bright unpainted silver at the present. And pretty much the biggest bonus was that it was water-resistant with redundant protections for the gears and wires. Naturally long immersion would be prohibitive, but Bucky could get caught in the rain without fear of short circuiting his arm.

After helping Bucky, Steve went over to where his pants were pooled near the side of the bed, and pulled them on. He’d need to go back to his townhome and pick up some more clothes.The blond looked back at the brunet and smiled fondly, not saying anything.

With the arm firmly attached and working perfectly, Bucky made short work of gathering some fresh clothes and slipping into them. He headed to his en suite bathroom to brush his teeth, calling out “so, how do you think this is going to work, Steve? An overnight bag or . . .” he dropped off, not quite sure if Tony would allow Bucky’s ex-boyfriend to move into the tower. He also felt unsure that Steve even wanted to leap that far ahead, and Bucky certainly didn’t feel confident enough, or safe enough, to leave the tower permanently.

Steve followed Bucky into the bathroom and leaned against the door jam. Shrugging one shoulder, Steve said, “I don’t know . . . I want to stay here with you, keep you safe, but I’ll have to ask Tony first. If he says yes, I’ll grab some clothes while you’re out with Wade today. I can stay in another bedroom if ya want? I’ll understand if you need space.”

Bucky pulled open the sink drawer, exposing the two extra, still packaged, toothbrushes he had stocked, along with other spare toiletries. He made room at the large sink for Steve., taking time to think that through. Finally, he nodded. “The bathroom actually has a connecting room on the other side. Maybe Tony’ll let you stay there?” Bucky knew there’d be times he would want or even need some safe time, alone from everyone, to meditate and regroup. Glancing at the blond, the reporter asked “think we could convince Wade to move into the tower? I’m sure they deliver pizza all the way up here. And I think Tony’s security would be safer if Wade took it over.” Bucky brushed his teeth, but determined he’d leave shaving for later.

Taking one of the still-wrapped toothbrushes and opening it, Steve nodded, “Not gonna argue there. Wade broke into my house yesterday, not entirely sure why . . .” The blond made quick work of brushing his teeth and after he’d spat out the last remains of the toothpaste he continued “I’m sure if you ask, Wade would love to live at the tower. I think Tony would allow him to stay before me.”

Laughing, Bucky nodded. “Tony’s jealous. He knows you’re more gorgeous than he is, even when you first wake up.” The brunet slipped from the bathroom and out of his bedroom to join the breakfast meeting.

Shaking his head softly, Steve let out a small laugh and followed Bucky into the main area.

“Sirs, we have two new visitors. Shall I allow them access?” Jarvis queried.

Tony, sitting at the breakfast bar looking immaculate and sleepy, frowned. “What? No! Jarvis, why do you keep letting people just come right in? This is supposed to be a secure tower! What about the security protocols?”

“You shut them off, sir, three days ago and have not requested they be reactivated.”

Jaw dropping open, eyes widening at the realization that he hadn’t been safe at all for three days, Bucky turned to glare at Tony, who flushed bright red.

“Oops?” Tony gasped. “Uh, my bad. Jarvis, reinstate full security protocols.”

“Very good, sir. Your guests have arrived.”

Steve walked up besides Bucky and wrapped his arm around the brunet’s narrow hips, pulling him close. He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple.

“No! That includes these new people, Jarvis. Just because I reinstated after they came doesn’t mean they’re grandfathered in or something!” Tony stood, exasperated, and headed towards the elevators.

Bucky turned and buried his face in Steve’s neck, his body actually trembling slightly at the implications of Tony’s distraction.

Walking past the elevators and into the main living area, Riley and Sam saw how their friends were embraced and looked incredulously at one another. “Did you know about this?” Riley asked his boyfriend, completely shocked.

Sam shook his head. “Uh, last I heard, Steve wasn’t going to go near him, and Bucky was playing least in sight,” he answered softly in Riley’s ear. “You?”

“No.” Riley answered, shaking his head. “What the hell happened last night? I swear I take one evening off . . .”

“Big problem is,” Sam asked softly, “how’s this gonna affect them here on out, Riley? Isn’t Bucky still a bit overwhelmed by what happened? I thought he was terrified of Steve.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say he’s terrified of Steve. More like afraid of what Steve might think of him. If Steve doesn’t do anything completely stupid . . . well Bucky might be able to gain some of his confidence back.”

“Great, they’ll be broke up again by evening,” Sam said and slid into one of the seats at the table.

Cursing under his breath, Riley nodded and went over to join his boyfriend at the table.

“Bucky?” Natasha called out as she pushed past Tony and into the room.

“And, so, you can’t just . . . okay, well, maybe you can,” Tony grumped behind the newlyweds. He trailed behind Clint, who looked as if he’d slept on a plane and been traveling since yesterday morning . . . which was actually the case.

“Natasha? Clint?” Steve’s face contorted in confusion. “What are you guys doing here? You’re supposed to be in the Bahamas?”

Clint looked at the group with a sleepy, dazed expression and shook his head, a bit confused. He didn’t answer just yawned and looked sleep-dazed.

Riley stood up and poured a cup of coffee before walking over to the tired man and handing over the mug. The therapist didn’t say anything else, just turned on his heel and sat back down next to Sam.

Surprise lit the ex-cop’s face and he tilted his head. He mouthed words at Riley, but barely any sound came out. Tony turned to whine at Clint, but the man just stared stupidly at him, sipping his coffee and nodding silently, apparently not hearing a word.

Seeing Bucky, Natasha’s face lit up but she froze when she saw Steve’s arm wrapped around his waist. Quirking a brow, she asked, “When did this happen?”

With a small sigh, Bucky pulled out of Steve’s grasp and nodded a bit to Nat. “Why are you back here instead of on a beach somewhere killing a mimosa?” He deliberately ignored her question.

Not surprised that the brunet had avoided her question, Nat shook her head, “We heard about what happened . . . with Fisk. We had to come back right away.”

“Damn,” Bucky sank into his chair, reaching over with his left hand and tugging Steve to sit beside him. “So, Fisk is fucking up more than _my_ life now. I’ll make sure he pays you back for your missed honeymoon,” he growled, eyes narrowing. Except for in private at the wedding, this was the closest Bucky had appeared to his old self in front of her.

The redhead smiled softly, “Don’t worry about that. The Bahamas will always be there. We wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Well,” Bucky drawled slowly, thinking about how to word his answer, “I nearly lost it, but Riley, Wade, and Steve got me through.”

“And Tony!” the inventor added indignantly. “I’ve been here for you for the long haul, Bucky-boy!”

“Oh, yes,” Bucky added, rolling his eyes and smiling, “and I couldn’t have made it one more day without my Tony.”

Tony nodded and sat down. “So, we’ve got our meeting.” He looked up. “Oh, wait! I gotta call Sharon!” He sprang up and ran out of the room, calling for Jarvis to connect him.

For his part, Sam stayed silent and began to eat his breakfast, letting the commotion happen around him. He’d butt in when things got more settled. Riley settled in next to Sam, nursing a steaming cup of coffee between his hands. With this many people it was only a matter of time before Bucky would begin to get nervous; and Riley wanted to savor the last few minutes of peace.

Natasha turned to her husband and tapped her ear a few times, reminding Clint to turn on his hearing aids, which he did immediately, with a small smile for his new wife.

Steve entwined his fingers with Bucky’s. The detective ran his thumb soothingly over the brunet’s knuckles. He leaned in closer and whispered, “Do you have any idea what this meeting is even about?”

“Tony showing off?” Bucky whispered back. He started serving himself carefully with his left hand, leaving his right in Steve’s. The gentle pressure and caress helped the still damaged fingers feel more . . . human and less stiff and claw like.

The blond snorted, grabbing some bacon and putting the pieces on his plate. “Like he needs a meeting to do that.”

Before anyone else could say anything, Tony walked back in and smiled broadly. “Okay, Sharon’s on her way over. She said something about the FBI needing my tower as an anti-Fisk headquarters, so I agreed. Of course, she promised she’d be the only agent in here, so I figured Bucky wouldn’t mind, right Buckers?”

Bucky shrugged. “If you get an agent, I want one, too. I choose Nat.”

Tony blinked slowly then laughed. “Fine, we can keep the redhead, too,” he answered.

“She’s mine,” Clint spoke up for the first time.

“ _I’m_ a person, who doesn’t _belong_ to anyone,” Natasha stated her eyes narrowing as she turned to glare at her husband.

Clint frowned at her and stared intently at her eyes, slowly taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “But you promised. You let Bucky give you to me. I heard the pastor say so.” He kissed each of her fingers, slowly, watching.

Rolling her eyes and smirking playfully, “I am your wife, Clint. And you’re right, Bucky did give me away. But I am not _your’s_. We’re a team.”

Shrugging, ignoring the others at the table, Clint answered, “But I belong to _you_.” There danced a bit of mischief in his eyes. “I’d even let you knock me on the head if you thought it would help.”

“You are such a sap sometimes, Clint.” Natasha smiled and kissed her husband.

He smiled. “So, what do you want to do, Nat?” Clint looked back at his coffee. “Do you wanna work here with Sharon on Fisk or do something else?” Just like that, he dropped the playful banter and took up Tony’s business meeting.

“Is that even a question? I want Fisk buried, buried so deep that no one will even remember his name. After what he did, he deserves everything that’s coming,” Natasha stated, her face completely calm and calculated.

“Good,” Sam suddenly joined in. “I’ve got a proposition then.” He met each person’s eyes then looked back at Tony, since that was the man who needed the most convincing. “I propose that Sharon and Nat work here, and maybe bury themselves here so Fisk’s guys don’t catch on. I can stay here and help out with research and maybe help watch Clint’s back, since Rumlow’s out again and might be looking to clean up.”

That drew a sharp breath from Bucky, whose hand instantly began trembling in Steve’s grip. The blond squeezed the brunet’s hand gently and continued to comfortingly rub his knuckles. Steve leaned in again and murmured, “He’s not gonna take you away from me again.”

Bucky turned wide eyes on Steve and blinked slowly, fear very evident in his gaze. “He’s going to try, Steve. He’s going to come looking.”

“I won’t let him. I’ll find the bastard and put a bullet between his eyes. He is _not_ going to lay another finger on you.” Steve’s eyes hardened but he forced his tone to remain calm.

Sam elbowed Riley under the table and nodded to Bucky who didn’t seem comforted, eyes darting around at his friends. “Riley, go get him. Steve’s going to need instructing how to talk him down.”

Taking a deep breath, Bucky turned and buried his face in Steve’s arm with a small whimper. He whispered softly, “help . . .”

Sighing, Riley set down his mug and stood up; making his way over to the pair.

Tony straightened and frowned. “Hey, why don’t you take him to his room, Steve. Maybe you can get him to meditate or something. It usually helps.” The inventor stood up and gestured to a different room. “I wanna talk to the police in here.” He shot his guests a definite glare for upsetting his Bucky-Boy at breakfast.

Riley quirked an eyebrow at Tony, but decided to try and let Steve handle the situation. Jarvis would alert him if things got out of hand.

Bucky bolted. One minute he was buried into Steve’s side, the next he was out the door and down the hall. It was almost as if he’d teleported, he moved so quick.

Shooting a quick glare over to Sam, Steve stood up and followed the brunet down the hall.

“Damn,” Sam groaned. “I think I’ve mastered the art of fucking up in the last year.” He pushed up from the table to join Stark in the other room, further from Bucky’s hearing. Clint followed with his coffee cup and the coffee pot, a mournful look towards his empty plate which had yet to see food that morning.

“You can say that again.” Nat growled under breath and stormed into the next room.

In his bedroom, Bucky crawled onto his bed and tugged the blanket over his shoulders as if freezing, but didn’t dare block out the bright lights of his room by pulling the cloth completely over his head. Instead, he tried to concentrate on breathing, reminding himself that Rumlow wouldn’t get him in the tower. Jarvis might have let friends in past Tony’s security, but he’d never let the enemy through the door.

“Buck?” Steve pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

Looking up, Bucky whimpered from the bed, eyes wide and frightened, like a doe in the headlights.

Steve kneeled down next to the bed, “That’s it, baby, focus on your breathing. In and out.” The blond paused and took a few deep breaths to demonstrate, “In and out, I know you can do it. In and out.”

Slowly, shakily, Bucky nodded and drew in a deep breath. It came out as a fast, sobbing whoosh, but he tried again. The third time, he just began to cry. “Help, Steve? I feel like he can see me anywhere I go . . .”

“He can’t see you, baby. You’re at the tower. You’re safe here. He can’t see you,” Steve said in a soothing voice; he hadn’t physically touched Bucky yet, afraid of triggering a response.

Whimpering, Bucky nodded, eyes locking with Steve’s. He wiped at his eyes with his right arm and started drawing in a shaking breath, slow, deep, and stuttering from the tears. Out loud he said “one . . . two . . .” counting as he breathed.

“Good, baby.” Steve smiled slightly, “That’s it. In and out.”

Slowly, very slowly, Bucky uncurled and pushed the blanket down. He rose into a cross-legged position and kept breathing. Slowly, eyes open and watching Steve, he stopped speaking and began to get a calmer rhythm to his breaths.

Steve watched Bucky for a few minutes, still kneeling in front of the bed. His heart felt like it would burst with happiness: he had been able to calm Bucky down.

Soon, Bucky fell into the familiar, comforting meditative state Riley had taught him. He took his eyes from Steve at last and let his body relax slowly, breath by breath. His hand even stopped trembling as he simply breathed and let his mind remind him of his safety and love in the tower among his friends.

Legs growing tired, Steve fell backwards slightly to fully sit down. He wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his chin on his knees. The blond sat quietly and watched as Bucky meditated.

After a long moment, Bucky stopped his meditation and laid down on the bed, his head hung over the side slightly, looking at Steve with a soft, relieved smile. Quietly, he whispered “Thanks, Steve. I need that sometimes.” He sounded grounded, unlike his other panic attacks where he seemed disoriented and lost.

Smiling, Steve whispered back, “No problem. I told ya I was gonna be right here beside you.”

Nodding, Bucky laid his chin on his left hand, and sighed. “I’m going to make Tony let you move in if he protests. I need you.” He blinked at his own words but left them there in the air, between them. Slowly, he added, “Last night was the first time I didn’t have a nightmare since the hospital.” There, he’d said it out loud: he had been committed into a pysch ward. “But they always drugged the dreams right outta me there.”

Reaching out and smoothing down a stray hair, letting his hand linger on the side of Bucky’s face, Steve said softly, “I’ll be happy to chase away any nightmares for ya, Buck. But you know what?”

“What?” he asked.

Steve rose to his knees and leaned over to press his lips to Bucky’s. “I need you, too.”

Bucky let out a soft whimper and practically launched himself at Steve, wrapping his arms around the tall blond and returning his kisses with a vengeance. This was no placid, dominated response; it was pure Bucky, demanding and passionate. Breaking the kiss temporarily, Bucky breathed out “Good. I’d hate to be the only one needing a teddy bear . . . get’s kinda embarrassing.” He kissed Steve’s neck and lightly nipped his shoulder.

Growling gently, Steve lowered his head so that he could whisper in Bucky’s ear. “I love you, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Breathing deeply, eyes shining and lips stretched into a sunny smile he hadn’t displayed much recently, Bucky whispered back “And I love you, Steven Grant Rogers.” He sealed his mouth over Steve’s in a longing promise.

**********

Wade pulled up alongside the entrance of Stark Tower, ignoring the multiple signs telling him that he couldn’t park in front of the curb.

Happy Hogan recognized the man from last night, a man granted clearance by Mr. Stark, and waved away the security detail. “Wilson’s clear.”

“Damn right I am.” Wade smirked, poking his head out the opened window.

“We can park you car for you, if you’d like, Mr. Wilson,” Happy offered. The security head did not react to the horrible burn scars Wade bore. Hell, there were others of his acquaintance who bore the scars only on the inside; this man wore his for the world to see. In Happy’s opinion people should honor this man for his sacrifices in the military . . . rumoured mercenary status aside.

“Thanks, man.” Wade grinned as he stepped out of the car, handing over his keys to the other man. “Any word on how my Bucky-Boy is doing this morning?” The mercenary asked as he began walking into the building.

“I have been informed of one panic attack,” Happy murmured while fingering the keys. “But he seems to be recovered. They are awaiting the arrival of FBI Agent Carter, and you are being requested to meet with Mr. Stark and the police before going to your appointment at the range.” Happy’s tone remained respectful.

Groaning, Wade had always hated meetings, let alone business meetings with both an overeager billionaire and the police. “Well, thanks again.” The mercenary grinned at the other man.

Happy glanced in the car then straightened. “Mr. Wilson? Did you want to secure these weapons or are you bringing all of them to the range?”

Turning around, walking backwards as he did, Wade laughed, “I want my Bucky-Boy to have a wide selection. Of course, I assumed he’ll stick with his usual rifle . . . but Sarge will have many different options.”

“Right. I’ll make sure they are kept safe until you leave then.” Happy himself got into the car and started the engine. Peering out, he called, “Use the blue elevator, Mr. Wilson. It will take you to the penthouse. Jarvis has your codes from last night’s tour so you’ll be able to get past the security.” Then the head of Stark’s security smoothly drove Wade’s car deeper into the underground garage.

Doing as he had been told, Wade took the blue elevator all the way up to the penthouse. The elevator opened and the mercenary strode into the main living area, the smell of breakfast foods making his stomach growl. Wade walked over to the abandoned table and grabbed a pancake from the stack.

“Welcome back, Sir,” came the British AI’s nearly friendly voice. “Shall I alert Mr. Stark and the others of your arrival? Mr. Stark wished to speak to you in light of yesterday’s troubles.”

His mouth still full of pancake, Wade called out, “Sure, J. Alert boss man of my arrival.”

“Very good, Sir. And I believe that is Mr. Barton’s place setting you have chosen.” Shortly after announcing that, the others started walking from the attached computer room.

Tony’s eyes lit up. “And here he is,” the inventor announced as if he had produced Wade out of thin air for their benefit. “Wade, I’ve got a proposition for you . . .”

Grabbing a piece of bacon off the plate next to him, Wade quirked an eyebrow at Tony. After taking a bite, the mercenary smirked, “Sorry, babe. You aren’t my type.”

Tony did a double-take, almost but not quite stumbling, then grinned widely, laughing. “Well, there goes that,” he said good-naturedly. “No, I am setting up a headquarters to take down Fisk and a pair of serial killers bent on re-attacking Barnes. I wondered if you wanted to join the team?” Tony sat in his normal place, ignoring Clint’s frown as the ex-cop had to move to Nat’s other side to get his breakfast.

Eyes widening slightly, “Sarge is in danger?” Wade asked, another wave of anger rushing through him as he thought of the torture his ex-serviceman had already been through.

Sam nodded. “Very much so. And if you join us, I can give you intel about the attack he went through last time . . . same perp.” He left that hanging as he finally filled his own plate with still warm breakfast foods. How the hell did Stark do that without a buffet line and chaffing dishes?

The mercenary nodded his head once, his eyes hardening with determination, “What do you need me to do? I’ll do anything to end the bastard that hurt Sarge.”

Taking back the conversation, Tony nodded. “Well, everyone at this table wants dibs on protecting our favorite Bucky-bear, but I’ll see you get first shot, since you’ve known him longest.” Tony poured himself some coffee. “What I need from you is your expertise with military and security. Bucky specifically asked for you to become assistant to Happy, my security chief, so he’d feel safer.” Tony cut his food, still not looking up. “Of course, if you have other jobs waiting, I won’t hold you back, but the salary is around, give or take, 90,000 a year?” He began to eat.

Wade didn’t even care about the money. He’d do whatever to help protect Bucky, although the paycheck was a bonus. “Sure, I’ll help you upgrade the place.”

Between sips and bites, Tony met Wade’s eyes. “This is a long-term offer, Wilson. Even after this immediate threat is over, I will want you around. And you’d be moving into the tower so Fisk wouldn’t see just who arrives regularly for work. The less he sees, the safer we all are. My entire strike team will be here.” He grinned. “I think we need a name.” He looked around at the others. “We need a name, right? Maybe . . . the Avengers?”

That was the moment Bucky, holding Steve’s hand, walked back into the breakfast area. “Strike Team?” he asked cautiously.

“Uh,” Tony blinked and looked at the man who’d so recently panicked.

Finally, Clint took a stab at communicating. He looked at Bucky directly and said, “we want to take down Fisk and his flunkies. So, we’re going to be in the tower for awhile. Stark’s decided to give us some bullshit club name.”

“It is not bullshit!” Tony whined.

“The Avengers?” Steve asked, his voice trailing, before nodding a few times, “I like it. Seems to fit the situation.”

Sighing, Bucky slid into his chair, noting in a bit of relief that he had not managed to spill or break anything this time. “But won’t you lose your jobs permanently if Fury finds out?” He looked from Steve to Sam then back to Steve. “Vigilantism is seriously frowned on.”

Steve laughed, “Fury was the one who wanted Sam and I to do all this.”

Bucky made a choking noise, pale-blue eyes widening as he turned completely to Steve. “Wait, you came here because you were told to?”

The blond detective froze, his mouth opening slightly only to snap shut. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing . . . again.

Softly, almost inaudibly, Bucky said “Truth, Steve . . . we need to start working on truth here or we might as well stop whatever this is right now.” His voice sounded hurt.

Taking a deep breath, Steve nodded, “Yes, Fury was the reason why Sam and I came in the first place. I wasn’t sure you’d . . . want to see me.”

Putting his fork down on his plate, ignoring the others watching them, Bucky nodded at Steve. “Well, I guess that worked out in a funny way then.” His voice sounded curiously twisted, as if he wasn’t sure how to feel. And he wasn’t. Bucky had thought Steve had broken past their morning together to come talk with him about it. But . . . he’d been ordered to as part of his work. Bucky wasn’t sure just how that made him feel, actually. That Steve had to be ordered to work with him . . . understanding lit Bucky’s eyes suddenly. “He wants me back as an informant!”

Steve grimaced slightly and then nodded again. “Yeah, he does. You were his best informant. Sam and I were ordered to protect you.”

“Actually,” Sam dared interrupt. “Steve was ordered to be your permanent bodyguard and I was ordered to find the shooters of Senator McCoy and protect Barton.”

Shooting his partner an annoyed glare, Steve let out a small groan.

“Senator McCoy?” Bucky blinked. “I must have missed that . . .” He wondered just what else he’d missed in his panic attacks.

Sam glared back. “Steve you missed this morning’s meeting. Everyone here is on board and part of this now. We’ve got Nat and Sharon, when she shows, for the legal angle, being FBI. We’ve got us as official bodyguards, and Wilson, my brother, is now on security. Next time you wanna miss the meeting for some make-up talk, don’t get mad because I spoke on your behalf, too.”

“So,” Bucky asked slowly, “all of you are working on a vigilante security team to take down Fisk . . . because he arranged a political assassination?” He felt lost, but his reporter instincts had managed to kick in. He would ferret out the entire story in time.

“Fisk is a dirty politician, Buck,” Steve stated, “I’m not sure that arranging a hit on McCoy was his first illegal stunt. He needs to be taken down.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m the one who put you on to that intel in the beginning, Steve. I’ve got more on Fisk than I ever put in my story.” He finally picked up his fork and began shoveling his eggs onto a piece of buttered toast.

“Wait,” Steve paused, “You have more on Fisk? Why didn’t you say anything before?”

Pausing before he could bite into his eggs and toast, Bucky looked at Steve. “Actually, I thought you knew I was Fury’s informant and had put _him_ onto Fisk, too. So, I figured whatever I collected was going straight to Fury no matter the route, so I didn’t bother to say anything. You found out when? About me? Obviously you didn’t know.”

“After the hospital.” Steve answered, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t like to think about that day nearly a year ago.

Surprise registered in the brunet’s grey-blue eyes and he lowered the semi-sandwich. “You didn’t know at all? But why’d he let you feed me stories?” Bucky couldn’t fathom Steve managing to keep his job if Fury hadn’t been letting him give intel out, even if they had to play a game of it being something secretive.

Steve shrugged, “I don’t know . . .” He did know why he always gave out classified information to the blue-eyed journalist but he didn’t really feel like sharing it in front of all these people.

Clearing his throat, Sam looked directly into his coffee, deliberately avoiding eye contact even with Riley.

Slowly, Bucky leaned forward and kissed Steve on the lips. He breathed, “Yeah, I wanted you, too, back then.” His eyes closed and he merely paused there, waiting for Steve’s reaction.

Smiling slightly, Steve kissed Bucky again, “You were the only good thing about my day.”

“Thanks,” Sam said to break the tension, a grin easing his nervousness over everything he’d put in motion back then, and the subsequent hurt Bucky and even Clint had suffered. “So,” he looked up from his cup. “Once Sharon gets here, we can get to work on this. Do you think you can share your research on Fisk, Bucky?”

Bucky pulled out of the kiss and turned his head. “It’s back at the apartment in my old room,” he said then snapped his lips closed. The last time he’d been there, he couldn’t even recall the fear-sex he’d push Steve into.

“Well, we can swing by your old place after-” Wade started, but his sentence was cut short.

“I’ll get it,” Clint interrupted and sat back, having finally gotten his breakfast. “I know my way round the place now and know where you kept the files. Nat and you let me know the combo to the safe.”

With a soft growl, Sam looked up. “How the hell am I supposed to protect your ass if you go running around to Bucky’s known haunts?”

“I am perfectly capable of looking after Clint, Sam.” Nat spoke up, “Clint and I need to go back to the apartment anyways to get some things if we are planning on staying here.”

Stark spoke up, “Well, you could always order new things. I can have stuff delivered and no one would think it odd. I do it all the time. No one would see any of you packing suitcases to bring here.” Tony stood and stretched. “Ah, Sharon, you’re late,” he called merrily, sliding smoothly to the pretty blonde’s side.

Sharon smiled slightly and tried to avoid looking at either Bucky or Steve, still feeling a little awkward to be in the same room as her new ex. “Sorry, traffic was nuts. Accident on the bridge shut down all lanes.”

“Must’ve been a tractor trailer,” Tony said and gestured towards the breakfast spread. “We’re having food. Come join us? I’ll catch you up.” He took her arm and began to guide her towards the chair next to his seat, pretty much halfway down the table form Bucky or Steve. “Wilson’s now on security with us, like Bucky wanted. And Nat’s baby sitting Clint when he galivants places. And Sam’s going to help you and Nat with your intel . . . and Bucky’s learning to share.” He beamed.

The blond FBI agent’s eyebrows rose as she looked at the brunet journalist, “Oh? What is he sharing?”

Bucky rolled his eyes and offered a small smile to Sharon, trying to downplay the discomfort between them over the night before. “I’ve got to get my Fisk file, but, yeah, I’ll share it.”

Sharon nodded, “Good, because Nat and I will need everything we can get our hands on if we really want to take down a man like Fisk.”

“I wanna take him to court,” Bucky groused.

“I can do that.” Tony smiled, eager to offer Bucky anything it seemed.

“Bucky,” Riley piped in, “We talked about this. Taking a man like Fisk to court could be extremely dangerous.”

“Yeah,” Bucky turned to his friend and counselor. “What’s he gonna do? Sick Rumlow on me?” Bucky stood quickly, almost too quickly for sight, and headed for the elevator rather than his room.

Riley shot up from his chair and jogged over to catch up with his patient. “Bucky!”

Stopping at Riley’s call, Bucky lay his head on the cool metal of the blue elevator . .. the one that only had two stops: penthouse and garage. He shuddered but didn’t look up. “I hate being out of control of my life, Riley,” he whispered. “That man told everyone just how dirty . . . damaged I really am.” He sobbed slightly.

“Look,” Riley placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “If you really want to take Fisk to court . . . than do it. Just know what could happen if you did, please consider everything before you make a decision.”

Still leaning on the door, Bucky swiveled his head slightly to look at Riley. “I just want everyone to see how much of a bastard he is. If he tells one journalist’s secrets, wouldn’t he tell other people’s? Wouldn’t that make him a liability to the public? And so, how can we trust his opinion on, say, the police? Maybe Steve and Sam will keep their jobs.”

“If you’re really doing this . . . please don’t leave the Tower without someone with you.” Riley pleaded, looking his friend straight in the eye.

“Leave the tower,” he blinked and straightened as if stunned to find himself near the elevator at all. Flushing, he looked at Riley. “Yeah, I don’t wanna leave without someone else . . . never intended to.” Looking down he murmured, “got confused in my . . . you know, lost in my head for a moment.”

Sam kicked Wade gently under the table. He mouthed _‘eleven o’clock range, right?’_

“Shit.” Wade murmured around a mouthful of eggs. He stood up and made his way to where Riley and Bucky stood. “Ya ready to go, Sarge?”

Blinking, Bucky turned haunted eyes to Wade and nodded silently. He remained where he was, though, not moving, just blinking . . . waiting.

“You alright, Bucky?” Wade asked, stepping closer, “We don’t hafta go if you're uncomfortable.”

“I want to take back my life, Wade,” Bucky whispered. Slowly, he pushed away from the elevator door. “I want to learn to shoot again.” He looked at the elevator and sighed. “I’m not sure I can do it if the range is crowded, though.” He gave Wade a sheepish look, hating to admit his weakness to his former private.

“I rented the whole place out for three hours.” Wade shrugged.

Slowly, Bucky smiled. “You did?” He sounded calmer, more hopeful. Taking a breath he nodded. “Than what are we waiting for? Want to get in as much shooting as we can.” His lightning changes in attitude were just one more mark of his post traumatic behavior, but they were controllable most of the time.

“Alright, let’s get going then.” Wade grinned, happy to see his Sarge smile again.

The doors opened on Jarvis’ silent command and Bucky stepped inside. As Wade joined him, the reporter turned, eyes falling on Steve. Before the doors slid shut, he called “see you later, Stevie!” Then the doors shut completely and the pair was whisked down to the garage where Happy waited with Wade’s car.

Steve smiled at the nickname, and he tried desperately to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut. If Bucky really wanted to press charges, things were going to get a lot more complicated.

Clint rose and sighed. “Well, before Barnes makes all hell break loose, I better go get those files. Want I should bring his entire collection, or just his Fisk file?” The ex-cop looked over his new group of coworkers, at least feeling useful even if it was just as gopher for now.

“Grab everything.” Sharon answered, “Maybe something about the new shooter might be in there. Who knows? Barnes seems like a very thorough reporter, we might get lucky.”

“With ties to the NYPD,” Sam added on a grumpy note.

With a shrug, Clint nodded. “Okay, if you want it all, I’ll need Steve’s super strength to help out.” He mockingly referred to the well-built detective as Superman on occasion. “Coming, my love?” Clint looked at Nat.  
Nat rolled her eyes playfully, “Of course. Maybe we can stop by the pizza place you like so much after we’re done.”

Eyes widening in delight, Clint added, “yes, _Mama’s_ pizza and _Parrah’s_ mocha. Definitely!” He headed readily towards the elevator doors.

Grabbing her keys off the counter, Nat turned to the group still sitting at the table, “Anyone want anything?”

Tony grinned. “I’ll order online and you can pick up Thai for supper tonight if you’re taking advanced orders, beautiful!”

“Vetoed,” Clint called back. “My wife is not your delivery service, Stark.”

“She offered,” Tony whined, but kept smiling.

“Call it in,” Nat called over her shoulder as she walked towards her husband.

Clint mouthed at her _‘you’re spoiling him, Tasha.’_

“Only person I am spoiling here, is you, my dear.” Nat smiled and kissed Clint before stepping into the open elevator.

“Yo, Rogers, c’mon! I need muscles!” Clint called out, stepping in after his wife.

Snapping out of his concerned trance, Steve nodded and ran over to the elevator. He slipped in just as the doors began to shut. “Sorry, mind’s moving a mile and minute,” Steve stated.

And the elevator doors closed on the disturbing picture of Sam, Riley, and Tony exchanging uncertain looks over the remains of breakfast.

“Alright,” Sam groaned, “Who's on dish detail?”


	8. The Shooting Range

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky goes a little more into detail what Rumlow did to him in that closet. Nothing really graphic but he does talk more about his rape.

Chapter Eight

Pulling the car into one of the many empty parking spaces, Wade smirked at the large, warehouse-like building in front of him. Shutting off the engine, the mercenary looked over at Bucky and grinned, “This is the place I came to when I got back from the hospital. Took me ages to learn how to reshoot but Fred, the owner, he never gave up on me. Now, I try to come once a week, just to help him keep the place running.”

Bucky nodded, right hand cupped against his chest but not showing the slightest hint of a tremble. Instead, the reporter studied the building as if looking for exits and flaws. Softly, he said “well lit, right, Wade?”

“Yep,” Wade answered, popping the ‘p’, “Well, aside from the obstacle course and night range, but we can stay away from those. Everywhere else is pretty well lit.”

“Well,” Bucky tore his eyes from the non-descript building to smile at his friend. “Let’s get going. Don’t wanna run out of time before I get to even hold the gun.” Bucky reached over with his well-calibrated left arm and opened the door before moving back to unbuckle himself, flushing a bit at his eagerness. He exited the car.

Stepping out the the vehicle, Wade went over to the back door and opened it. He grabbed the nearly overflowing duffle bag from the back seat before slinging the bag over his shoulder and chuckling at his friend, “After you, Sarge.” Wade motioned for Bucky to lead the way to the front entrance. 

Grinning in anticipation, Bucky walked into the place, pushing away the twinge of fear at entering a completely unknown location. He trusted Wade . . . would trust the man with his life. Noting the well-kept distance ranges, the night-training area behind a locked door to the left, and the obstacle course set up in the distance, Bucky nodded and smiled back at Wade. “This looks real good, Wade. Is your friend here today?”

“Yeah,” Wade nodded, “Hey, Fred! Got someone I wantcha to meet!” The mercenary shouted.

A man in his late fifties stepped out of a small office near the front door; he stood a few inches taller than Wade, his toned arms bulged out of his black t-shirt, and his long grey hair tied back in a braid. What seemed almost out of place was the kind, almost gentle, smile that graced his face. “Wade!” The older man moved over to embrace his friend, “It’s good to see you alive and kicking.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily.” Wade laughed.

Stiffening despite not being directly approached by the larger man, Bucky watched, blue-grey eyes wary.

Turning to motion at Bucky, Wade grinned, “Oh! Fred this is Bucky, my old Sergeant from way back when . . . Bucky this is Fred.”

Holding out his hand, Fred offered the brunet a friendly smile, “Wade’s told me a lot about you. Said you were the best shot in all the Army. Said his Sergeant never missed a shot.”

A flush of pleasure at the old compliment warmed Bucky. “Was once,” he confirmed and carefully offered his damaged right hand. “Been outta circulation too long . . . ‘bout time I got my wings back, y’know?”

The tall, older man let out a small chuckle before giving a warm smile to the ex-sniper. “Ah . . . boy do I. I used to be a sniper myself back in the day. When I got discharged . . . well I didn’t see the point in shootin’ anymore. But a sniper without a gun, is like a fish without water . . . ain’t natural. It’s in our blood. So I decided to start up this range, to encourage people like you and Wade to get back on the saddle.”

Nodding, relaxing suddenly as if they’d been old friends, Bucky felt himself tusting this old warhorse. Maybe he couldn’t trust everyone in his life, but Bucky wanted to trust some people . . . and this guy seemed genuine. “I wish I’d known about you a year ago,” he offered, his voice sturdier than it had been when hinting at his torture.

“Well you’re here now, that’s what matters. Wade is an excellent teacher, but if ya need anything . . . don’t hesitate to come get me. I’ll be in my office. Now you boys have fun.” Fred smiled once more at the pair, before turning away and walking back into the small room.

“So,” Wade clapped his hands together, “Where do ya want to start, Sarge? Wanna start with your rifle? Or maybe work up to that?”

Bucky jumped inadvertently at the clapping noise, but didn’t bolt. He knew from what Riley said that loud, sudden noises would most likely startle him for the rest of his life. At least he didn’t scream this time. “I want to try holding a rifle again. I need to learn it backwards now.” He looked over at Wade.

“Alright,” Wade nodded, “To the distance ranges it is.”

Holding up both hands, Bucky laughed, eyes dancing for a moment. “Not the ranges, Wade. I think you’re jumping . . . ah . . . the gun. I want to handle a gun again. I haven’t held one since the war,” his voice dropped to a near whisper. “I need to relearn her, take her apart and rebuild her, clean her . . . then she’ll talk to me again, I hope.”

Smiling at his friend, Wade nodded again. He motioned for his old Sergeant to follow him into one of the side rooms where people could put their personal belongings. Opening the door, Wade set down the heavy duffle bag on the large wooden table and unzipped it. Searching through the contents for a few minutes until he found what he had been looking for, Wade pulled out the large rifle and offered it over to the brunet, “Made sure to always have one of these. They were your gun of choice, right? Barette M82A1M . . . sure is a beaut.” 

Eagerly, Bucky followed Wade and stood nearby without crowding. No sensible person crowded a man with a gun . . . or twenty. Smiling, Bucky reached his left hand out for the weapon and carefully took it. “Yeah, she is . . .” he breathed, taking in the rifle’s sleek appearance. “C’mere, baby,” he crooned and sank to the bench in the store room, letting his right hand rove carefully over the black metal. The cold hard weapon under his damaged hand actually felt soothing . . . like he had some control once more. Bucky began to take apart the weapon, using the gun kit Wade provided. He had some trouble manipulating his right hand, but his left, the metal prosthetic, translated his remembered actions fluidly. Bucky murmured under his breath the entire time he worked.

Watching from the other side of the room, Wade smiled fondly at the brunet, who looked so much like his old Sergeant. Bucky used to get so involved with all his weapons, treating them as if they were actually people, much to the amusement of all the men in the unit. Dum Dum never stopped teasing the kid about it. The mercenary had always thought the sight had been somewhat endearing, for someone to care about his work so much. 

Taking longer than he ever had in the past, but still a respectable time for a beginning soldier perhaps, Bucky had the gun apart, checked, then reassembled. With a soft sigh, he looked up. “So, the range, Wade?”

Hopping to his feet, and giving Bucky an excited smile, Wade nodded and lead the ex-sniper to the long distance range. There were multiple levels and vantage points throughout the range, but the mercenary settled on a ground floor spot, not sure Bucky would be ready for any advance spots yet. “Okay . . . the main thing is not to get frustrated.” Wade began, “It’ll be like starting over from the beginning.”

Confidence high since he’d been able to tend the weapon and load it with little difficulty, Bucky slipped on his hearing protectors and took his stance, instinctively checking to see Wade and Fred, who hadn’t left his office, were not going to inadvertently wander into range. He raised the rifle and instantly his right hand collapsed under the weight, reminding him that he had to learn all over again. Frowning, Bucky looked to Wade for help. “Okay,” he said sheepishly, pulling the ear protectors off so they hung about his neck at the ready. “I’m listening.”

Wade gave his friend a wide grin and moved to stand behind the ex-sniper, “I’m gonna have to touch you . . . that alright?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded acceptance, “okay. Thanks for the head’s up.”

Making a small humming noise, Wade lifted his hands and began to shift the weight of the rifle so that it would lean heavier on the metal appendage, “The trick will be to keep as much weight off your right. Your body will fight it on instinct but ya gotta force it to listen.”

Muttering, Bucky said “I shoulda learned to shoot either handed back then. So stupid.” But he paid careful attention anyway.

“I don’t think back then you thought you’d be my favorite amputee,” Wade joked, but kept focusing on getting Bucky into the right stance.

A laugh erupted from Bucky and he grinned at the mercenary. “Yeah? I don’t think you thought that, either, unless you were plotting on dismembering me when I was riding your private’s ass for something stupid.” He grinned.

“Hey, those bombs woulda made an excellent diversion,” The ex-private chuckled, remembering the fond memory of Bucky vehemently trying to get Wade to cough up the location of the explosives.

“Yeah,” the brunet agreed wholeheartedly, “if you hadn’t insisted on putting them in the major’s foot locker!” Bucky finally got the gun situated directly over his left arm, right hand resting by the trigger in a very unfamiliar pose.

Letting his hands fall to his sides, Wade let out a loud laugh, “C’mon, his expression woulda been priceless.”

“He was an exchange soldier, Wade. Did you wanna give America a bad name with the Brits? Falsworth mightn’t seen it as a funny thing . . . he was too British for humor.” Bucky laughed and took aim. “Gonna shoot, Wade. Step back.”

Obeying the brunet, Wade took a few steps back and watched as Bucky got ready to fire.

Slipping the ear protectors back on and checking for clearance, Bucky spotted and held his target, letting out a breath and caressing the trigger awkwardly at the same time. The gun bucked in his grip and the shot went wide . . . real wide. Bucky narrowed his eyes, trying to tamp down the instant frustration that bubbled up; It had been years since he’d done this. He tried to remind himself that it’d taken a long time to get good in the first place, but his body wanted to rebel at the idea that he couldn’t just do what it remembered.

“You jumped right before you pulled the trigger . . . that’s why it went wide.” Wade explained, “Try taking a deep breath, calm your nerves a little.”

“Yeah, forgot.” Bucky took his aim again and let himself breathe, but his shot went wide again . . . and again . . . and again. He kept jumping before the shot would finish, as if afraid of the coming sound, the coming flash. Frustration welled and Bucky’s right hand began to cramp.

“Alright . . . break time.” Wade stated, noting the ex-sniper’s growing agitation. “Fred always keeps the fridge stocked with goodies, let’s go raid that shit.”

He wanted to rebel, to snap at Wade that he could do this. Bucky wanted to keep going until he got it right, but he knew that was stupid pride talking. The brunet took a deep breath and carefully unloaded the rifle, trying to control his trembling right hand as he worked. FInally, he nodded. “Right . . . lunch.” Bucky turned upset grey-blue eyes on his friend.

Leading the frustrated man to the large break room towards the back of the building, Wade entered the wide open space. Decorated, to the nines, with old Military memorabilia, Fred, ever since he’d been discharged, had collected the old relics and the decorations always made the mercenary smile.

Without protest, mentally reviewing the past half hour in his mind, Bucky simply followed Wade to the room. He walked in without noticing that one of the lights was out right over the fridge. Instead, he merely sank down at the table and tried to wrap his head around his continued failure, and what he could do to fix it.

Walking over to the fridge, ignoring his distraught friend, Wade peered inside. “Yes! Musta been pizza night last night! Want a piece?” He asked over his shoulder.

“Sure, anything’s good,” Bucky responded. He took his right hand in his metallic left and began carefully massaging, not even thinking about what he did. He muttered as he tried to puzzle through how he could stop anticipating the shot . . . and responding before it happened. That was a dangerous tell even if it didn’t knock off his aim; no sniper wanted someone to sense the balance was off.

Grabbing one of the boxes and two cans of soda, Wade walked over to the table where Bucky sat and offered the food over. “I told ya it was gonna take some time, Sarge. Just try and relax for a few minutes . . . take your mind off of it for right now.” Taking a bite of the pepperoni and mushroom pizza, the mercenary let out a loud groan, “Nothing is better than cold pizza . . . except maybe chimichangas.”

The brunet lifted his eyes, frowning, and studied his horribly scarred friend. Finally, slowly, he nodded. “Okay. Food now.” He let out his breath and let go his hand, reaching for a random slice of cold pizza. Slowly, before biting the food, he asked softly “how long did it take, Wade?”

Wade opened his can of soda and took a sip before answering, “About three months before I could nail the center of the target. Almost quit my first day but Fred smacked me and told me to man up. Said I was never gonna relearn with a poor attitude.”

Bucky nodded and took two bites, not chewing until his mouth was almost over-stuffed. He settled the cold crust on his plate and popped his can open, spilling it as his right hand shook inadvertently in a sharp, but short, spasm. Bucky frowned and grabbed for a pile of napkins. Swallowing the large lump of food, Bucky asked “does this guy even advertize his rehab range, Wade?”

Shaking his head, Wade answered, “Nah . . . uses mainly recommendations from existing customers. I donate anonymously every month, Fred don’t know that I do, obviously, but I can’t let this place get shut down, ya know? Fred helped me get back on my feet after the accident.” 

With a nod, taking a swig of his soda now that he’d cleaned up his small mess, Bucky put the can carefully back on the table and grabbed his pizza again. As annoying as those mishaps were, Bucky seemed adjusted to the fact that he would continue to have troubles, knock things over or lose his grip with his injured hand. Without even thinking about how the right seemed to affect his daily living, Bucky asked “how much does he need to keep his head up?”

Quirking an eyebrow, Wade looked over at his friend before shrugging. “A place like this ain’t cheap to run. Cost ‘im well over eight grand a month.”

“And if this place wasn’t rented out right now, how many people would be using the facility? Regularly?” Bucky took two large bites and began to chew again, reaching for his soda to drink once he’d swallowed.

“Fred once told me he gets an average of eighty customers a day on weekdays and about two-hundred on the weekends,” Wade stated, taking another bite of his pizza.

Bucky choked. There was no other word for it. He had certainly not expected so many people to know about this seemingly hole-in-the-wall joint. Clearing his throat, drinking a bit to try to help, the reporter shook his head. “But that’s still not enough to meet the bills?”

“Fred is too nice of a guy to charge what he should be chargin’. Some people he lets in for free.” The mercenary explained.

Suddenly, without explanation, Bucky got up and walked out of the break room. He walked over to Fred’s office and knocked on the door. “Fred? You got a notebook and pen, please?” he called, without explaining why he wanted such an odd weapon in this fighter’s den.

Head snapping up at the sound of the voice, Fred nodded and fished out the asked for supplies from the drawer of his desk. Walking over to the brunet, the older man handed them over, “Don’t know what a paper and pen have to do with ya relearning how to shoot, Sergeant.”

Nodding, Bucky accepted the items. “Actually, I’ve been out of circulation for a lot of things. I gotta relearn a lot more than how to shoot.” He smiled. “Thanks for the pizza and pop, too.” Bucky headed back to the break room and hesitated in the doorway, finally aware of the darker area around the fridge.

Wade looked over at Bucky and grinned, taking another drink of his soda and reaching for his third piece of pizza. “Whatcha got there, Buck?”

Eyeing the darker area cautiously, Bucky slipped back to the table and put the notepad down. He began writing, the plates of his left hand smoothly allowing his fingers to grasp the writing implement. “My own little secret Santa project,” he answered. Again without thought, Bucky used his right hand to pick up his pizza and take a slow bite, only one, and chewing as his left hand seemed to fly over the page.

Watching at how still and controlled the injured hand worked when Bucky wasn’t so concentrated on it, Wade asked, trying to distract the brunet even more, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Bucky smiled without looking up at his friend, his eyes dancing in excitement at what he wrote, “you said Fred works by recommendation,and he only takes what people can afford to pay? This warehouse is large enough to hold about a hundred or so more people on weekends than it does currently. If Fred had someone to help organize his ranges by appointment, he could even avoid safety and fire codes . . . if more people showed.” His explanation told nothing of what he was thinking or writing, though the reporter seemed unaware of that fact, too long used to concealing information in order to protect his own stories.

Leaning back in his chair, and throwing his arms behind his head, Wade smiled happily at his old friend. “Ya do know that I know you’re not telling the whole truth, right?” Chuckling softly, Wade shook his head, “But it’s alright, guess I’ll learn what’s brewing in that mind of yours when everyone else does.”

Standing up, Wade patted his stomach contentedly, “Well, shall we get back to it? I think I may have a few ideas on how to control your inner Tigger.”

Looking up, Bucky nodded. “‘Kay,” he agreed tearing off the sheet of paper and folding it then shoving it into his pocket. He quickly finished off his slice of pizza and his cola then cleaned up after himself, pointedly avoiding the darker area around the fridge now that he was aware of it. The reporter washed his hands and dried them then headed out of the room. Finally what Wade had said clicked and he turned slowly, an odd expression on his face. “Tigger? Did you just compare me to a cartoon tiger on speed?”

“Well you would look quite adorable as a tiger, and you jump a lot. The name fits.” Wade shrugged before leaving the break room and heading towards the distance ranges again. 

“If you tell me to wear stripes and hop around on my ass, I’m ditching ya, Private,” Bucky growled, laughter under his voice. He took up the weapon almost lovingly once more and began to carefully load it.

“I’ll be your Pooh Bear!” Wade grinned, “We can be like one of those sickenly cute couples that have nicknames for each other!”

Bucky snorted, nearly dropping his head down to the rifle’s smooth surface. He shook his head. “My pooh bear? But isn’t a pooh bear someone you cuddle when the Hufflelumps come after your honey?” He shook his head, grinning widely.

Winking Wade said in his most sultry voice, “You can cuddle with me anytime ya want, Sarge.”

“Yeah, not,” Bucky chuckled. “I’m just getting back together with Steve. Don’t need him to get all jealous on your ass and actually find a way to arrest you despite his promise of hands off.”

“He can join in! Captain America, “ Wade let out a longing sigh, “Now that is a body I wanna see naked.”

Bucky snickered. “Been there, done him,” he called happily. “And I ain’t planning on sharing him, either.” Sliding on his ear guards, Bucky checked his perimeter and aimed. “Gonna fire,” he sang out softly, letting the breathing calm through him. He caressed the trigger and hit the very edge of the paper target . . . not an official hit, but still much closer.

Wade hollered happily as if Bucky had just won a gold medal at the Olympics. “See! I told ya you could do it! You’ll be hittin’ the center in no time, Sarge!” 

Pride swelled through him and Bucky straightened a bit, rolling his neck and shoulders to ease his tense muscles . . . when had he tensed the hell up? Tension and shooting never mixed well. Apparently, he had to relearn his center, too. “Yeah, maybe less than three months, even?” he teased.

“Hell yeah!” Wade exclaimed, “Wait . . .” The mercenary drawled as he finally registered what Bucky had said. “That’s a low blow, Barnes.” 

The reporter turned his head, eyes dancing, to grin at Wade. “Sarge, to you,” he sang out merrily then turned back to face the target, taking careful aim yet again. By the end of another half hour, Bucky could generally hit the paper every time but needed more practice to actually center his shots, group them. He stepped back, right hand trembling in a claw-like pose, as he tried to control his aching muscles from the long unused to activity.

Seeing the shaking hand, Wade frowned slightly, “Maybe we should call it a day, Sarge. I’m getting pretty beat.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed softly. “I need to tend this hand before it seizes.” He offered a tired smile to his friend. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck . . . and it feels great.”

Laughing as he made his way back into the room where his duffle bag lay, Wade began to pack up all the supplies and waited for Bucky to hand back the rifle.

A few minutes passed while Bucky unloaded and checked the weapon before he joined Wade. Sighing very softly, he held out the rifle in his left hand. “I’d clean her for you, but I think our time’s up. Someone just came in the front as I was passing. Shortish guy with a bald head and a weird tattoo. Looked like a fetisher.”

Wade took back his rifle and carefully put it back into the duffle bag before zipping it up and slinging it over his shoulder. “Doesn’t sound like any of the regulars I know. But we should head out before more people arrive,” the mercenary said and headed out of the small room.

Following, Bucky looked towards the range in curiosity as he passed by to the door. Impressed with the man’s grouping, Bucky shook his head. As he walked towards the car, he whistled low. “Sure he ain’t a regular? He’s a fine shot. Only saw a few seconds, but all heart and head shots,” the ex-sniper reported.

A young man with dark brown hair and large, expressive brown eyes stepped towards them. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder and he held what appeared to be an IPod or recording device in one hand. He offered an almost shy smile. “Hello? Uh, excuse me? I’m Peter Parker, from the Daily Press, and . . . uh . . . I would like to speak with you.” He nodded and offered his smile again. “Just for a moment, please?” he added, sounding a bit nervous.

Wade tensed and immediately pushed Bucky behind him and turned to glare at the stranger approaching them. “No comment,” the mercenary ground out, but he couldn’t help staring into the young man’s doe-like eyes.

“Wait,” Bucky put his left hand on Wade’s arm. “Daily Press?” Bucky studied the unfamiliar youth. “That was my paper, Wade.”

Peter nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. I’m, uh . . . you’re . . .” he cleared his throat and shrugged a little, “your replacement while you’re . . . on leave?” His manner seemed almost awkward, like he wasn’t sure what to say.

Narrowing his eyes even more, Wade studied the lanky man; the last thing Bucky needed to see was his replacement from the newspaper he’d sweated over for years, “Listen, kid. We gotta get going. Ain’t polite to approach people on the street like this.”

“That’s why I called out,” Peter said, still standing a few feet away. “I just wanted to ask about . . .” he paused and glanced over at Bucky then back at Wade, “about what you think of the political upheaval concerning the police force right now?”

“Bullshit.” Wade barked, “Ya wanna ask him about Fisk. Well, kid, why don’t ya just turn around and forget about it.”

As if to himself, Peter muttered, “isn’t that what I just said?” He sighed and took a step closer, both hands raised, palms out, in an age-old placating gesture. “Yes, sir, Mister Fisk has made accusations against the police force and is asking for a political cleansing of all departments. He’s stating the attacks from last year as his reasoning, but I was wondering if Mister Barnes agreed with this cleansing or if Mister Fisk might be taking things too far?” Peter’s eyes darted back to Bucky.

“Too far?” Wade snorted, “The fat bastard said shit that wasn’t his to say.”

“Wade,” Bucky said softly from behind his friend.

Craning his neck to look at Bucky, Wade said “Bucky you can get in the car . . . I’ll take care of the reporter.” He narrowed his eyes towards Peter again. _Shit,_ Wade thought to himself, _this kid has amazing eyes._

“I wanna ask him a question,” the ex-sniper said, still softly.

Peter nodded his agreement at being questioned, knowing that sometimes a reporter had to answer questions to get answers.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky opened the back door to the car and gestured inside, watching Peter intently. “But not out here. I don’t want anyone else listening in.”

Grumbling to himself about stupid reporters, Wade popped open his trunk and not-so-gently placed the heavy duffle bag down, the car rocking slightly with the impact. The mercenary plopped down into the driver’s seat and continued mumbling to himself, his words indistinguishable to the men in the back seat.

The younger and older brunets slid into the back seat, Peter a bit nervous at suddenly being trapped in a strange vehicle . . . maybe this wasn’t so smart after all.

Next to the younger man, Bucky asked slowly, “Do you think Fisk is going to far?”

Swallowing, Peter nodded, eyes wide, expression earnest. “Yes. I think policemen are human and can make mistakes. No one knows just what mistakes these two detectives may have made, but in the end they _did_ catch the guy and rescue Mister Fisk and anyone else being held. I think asking for their firing is unreasonable. Maybe it’s a matter of training or even funding for a bigger force, not just clearing them all out.”

With a nod, Bucky asked, “So, you wanted to interview me about Fisk?” He felt satisfied at the kid’s answer and would give him a chance . . . though it felt odd to be interviewed by his own replacement.

“Right . .. . uh,” Peter cleared his throat. “Mister Fisk has publicly allegated that you were tortured at the kidnapper’s hands. He used some criminal accusations as proof that the police force is ineffective. But what people haven’t been asking, and I think is important, is if Mister Fisk and you wish to press charges . . .”

Bucky cut Peter off right there. “There is no Fisk and me. The slug didn’t even clear with me that he was going to the press. I had no clue he’d been a victim until I saw that report, and the bastard had no right to spread my business to the world.” Bucky’s voice vibrated in his anger, leaning forward, upset with his revealed shame.

“Fucking fat ass wipe.” Wade grumbled from his seat, staring intensely out the windshield. “I want to cut off the man’s balls and force him to eat them . . . fucking pig.” 

The younger reporter glanced between the other two men and finally nodded. “So, he was breaking the law when he did that interview? Basically, he was doing the very thing he’d been screaming that others should be replaced for?”

“Exactly,” Bucky growled and crossed his arms, pressing his curled right hand into his chest.

“Do you plan to . . . uh . . . take this charge anywhere? I mean, have you heard the . . . rumors that the man has powerful connections that . . . uh . . . dispose of his problems?” Peter licked his lips as he came to a very juicy, if dangerous, tidbit. It was a story that could actually make his career.

Wade’s eyes snapped to meet Bucky’s eyes from the rearview mirror. Shaking his head slightly, Wade hoped Bucky wouldn’t reveal his plan to sue Fisk. If the news got out too early, things could get real ugly, real fast.

Bucky turned to look over the college student. Slowly, he said “I’ve heard some things that make me wonder if giving a public statement would endanger me, Mister Parker. I think I don’t want to give him any more fuel to use in his campaigning, so I’ll withhold comment. But,” Bucky leaned closer, “I think he won’t be getting away with using people and twisting them to his sick purposes for much longer.”

Groaning from the driver’s seat, Wade slammed his forehead onto the steering wheel. _Leave it to Barnes to say too much_ , the mercenary thought bitterly.

Blinking his large brown eyes, the bane of his teen years since everyone said they looked like a girl’s eyes, Peter whispered, “that could . . . uh . . . be taken as a threat to the man, Mister Barnes.” The tip of his tongue darted out to moisten his lips.

Shaking his head in response, Bucky sat back. “I’m not threatening anyone, Mister Parker. I’m considering all my options and how they would affect me and this fine city. If that’s a threat, the man’s a weak fool with . . .”

“Okay!” Wade snapped, “I think this conversation is over. My car, my rules. Now . . . Parker, is it? How about I walk you to the nearest curb.”

Peter said, “yeah . . . Parker . . . that’s me.” Then the order sunk in and he nodded. “Okay . . . uh, thank you, Mister Barnes.” Peter let himself out of the car and stepped back from the road, clutching the straps of his backpack and watching them with his intense, huge brown eyes.

Wade stepped out of the vehicle and grabbed Peter’s bicep tightly, pushing him away from the car enough so Bucky couldn’t hear them, but the mercenary could still watch the car from the corner of his eye.

Softly, Peter let out a whimper at Wade’s sudden grasp.

“You listen here, kid.” Wade growled, “You seem like a nice guy . . . real pretty face. But if you do _anything_ to hurt that man, I will make it my life’s mission to _end you_. Capiche?” 

Pater licked his lips again and nodded. “Yes, sir, uh . . . mister,” he faltered, having not been introduced to the reporter’s apparent bodyguard.

“Call me Deadpool.” Wade stated suddenly, thinking of his old codename from the military, “I’ll give you my real name once I think you’ve earned it.” Wade loosened his grip slightly, “Bucky is going through some things right now . . . he doesn’t need any more stress.”

“Mister Deadpool,” Peter breathed, nodding. He ducked his head, flushing slightly, then looked back at the heavily scarred war vet. “Thank you for letting me . . . uh . . . yeah . . . so, um . . . now . . “ and Peter tried to step back from the man.

Letting the young man stumble out of his grip, Wade offered the reporter a wicked smile “Glad to have had this chat, Baby-Boy. Remember our agreement.”

“Sure thing, Mister Deadpool,” Peter nodded and shot off a semi-salute. He gulped and backed away further before turning and running for a fire escape. He jumped for the ladder, grabbing it about half a story up, and pulled himself up gracefully, bounding off it onto another close building. The kid had been trained in parkour; it was more than obvious.

“Fucking spider monkey,” Wade mumbled before turning back to the car and sliding into the driver’s seat.

Bucky climbed up to the front seat without getting out of the car. He had his right hand shoved deep into his pocket to control the more-than-obvious shaking. Slipping into the seat, Bucky awkwardly used his left hand to pull the belt over and clip it shut, trapping his arm.

“Got to be careful, Sarge.” Wade warned as he started the engine, “You are about to go to war with one of the most dangerous men in New York. We can’t have word getting out early.”

Turning haunted blue-grey eyes on his friend, Bucky merely nodded. “Tower?” was all he said.

Releasing a deep breath, Wade nodded, as he backed out of the parking space, “Yeah, Tower.”

********************

Upon arriving at the Tower, Wade let Happy park his car again and walked with Bucky to the elevator; pressing the call button, the mercenary turned a concerned glance to his friend. The brunet had been quiet the entire drive back to the Tower, and Wade was concerned that another panic attack might be working its way through the ex-sniper.

The elevator opened with a soft ding, and the two men stepped into the space, and within a few seconds they walked into the penthouse. Immediately, Wade could hear unfamiliar, soft voices coming from the living room. The mercenary shared a confused look with the journalist before both men made their way into the common area. Sitting on the couch, Wade could make out Tony, but the other two men were strangers to him.

One man had long blond hair, nearly as long as Bucky’s had been nine months ago, and his hazel eyes were narrowed in concentration as he jotted something down in his open notebook. The second man wore a pair of round red sunglasses and his brunet locks were styled in a professional way to keep them from falling into his face. Wade’s eyes instantly locked on the over-long white walking stick clutched firmly in the brunet’s grasp; the man was blind.

As if hearing Bucky’s and Wade’s footsteps, the brunet turned his head to the two men and smiled slightly, “Ah! I take it Mr. Barnes and Mr. Wilson have come home?”

“Matt Murdock?” Bucky asked, shoving his right hand further into his pocket as if to hide the limb.

“Bucky Barnes.” Matt smiled again and stood up; carefully he made his way over to the journalist, Foggy Nelson, Murdock’s partner, close on his heels. Once close enough, Matt held out his hand, “I am truly sorry to hear about what happened. I hope your recovery went well?”

“Wade!” Sam called out, poking his head out from what the mercenary knew to be the make-shift HQ computer room, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Wade turned to look at Bucky, who shrugged and nodded slightly in reply, the mercenary nodded once before turning on his heel and walking into the side room where Sam had called him from.

******************

Walking into the computer room, Wade froze mid-step and his eyes widened at the pictures being displayed on the multiple screens. There were the gory crime scene photos from all of Crossbones’ victims; the X’s on each person’s lifeless eyes calling out tauntingly to the mercenary. However those were not the pictures that made Wade want to run from the room and find a bucket to hurl up all three pieces of pizza that he’d eaten. Those were the pictures of Bucky lying unconscious in a hospital bed, covered in bruises from head-to-toe, his brown hair shaved haphazardly around the clean white bandage that wrapped around his head.

Wade stepped closer to the images and warily eyed each and every one. The close-up of the journalist’s swollen and bruised right hand made the mercenary cringe. The deep purple color that circled Bucky’s throat from the injury that had caused his torn and crushed larynx stood out harshly against the journalist’s too-pale skin, causing a new, larger wave of fury to rush through Wade.

“I thought you might want to be all caught up on the case. I know they’re pretty harsh to look at, but you needed to know what you’re up against. What Crossbones is capable of,” Sam said from somewhere behind Wade.

Turning slowly so that he could face the ex-paratrooper, Wade ground out, “Was what Fisk said true? Was Bucky raped?” Deep inside, the mercenary already knew the answer, but he’d been hoping that he’d been wrong; that Bucky had just been beaten in that closet, that Fisk had lied to the public when he had said that the brunet had been sexually assaulted.

Taking a deep breath before nodding tersely, Sam confirmed the mercenary’s fear, “The trauma that had been inflicted on Bucky’s body indicates at least two sexual assaults.”

“Fuck.” Wade groaned and closed his eyes to try and calm himself down. “That sick fuck! Why? Why had Bucky been a target in the first place?”

Sam hesitated, unsure if this truth was something that he should tell the obviously angry man. Taking another deep breath, Sam’s eyes flicked over to the picture of Bucky lying on the hospital bed, before returning to meet Wade’s. “Brock Rumlow is the only surviving member of Steve’s old unit. The rest were killed in an ambush. Steve was able to drag Rumlow out but not before he had been horribly disfigured by an explosion.” The detective paused, looking at Wade’s own scarred body before continuing, “Steve and Brock . . . they uh - - messed around overseas. They weren’t in a serious relationship or anything. Rumlow had a wife at home. But Steve only went to see Rumlow once at the field hospital while the man was unconscious, and when Rumlow was sent home his wife couldn’t handle it. She left him. We believe that was his stressor: after she filed for divorce Rumlow became Crossbones. He developed his deep hatred for Steve, blaming him for everything that had happened to him. Bucky was Steve’s boyfriend. That’s why Bucky became a target. Rumlow wanted to hurt Steve, and he knew he could do that through Bucky.”

“And you two asshats were too busy believing that Bucky was a mass murderer while he was - -” Wade stopped abruptly, not wanting to finish his sentence. The mercenary shook his head and turned to look back at the images.

Stepping up to stand besides Wade, Sam sighed and said, “There isn’t a day that I don’t regret thinking what I did about Bucky. Had I not shown Steve the research I’d gathered, Steve and Bucky would’ve never had that fight. Rumlow would’ve never gotten his hands on Bucky, and Bucky wouldn’t have had to go through what he did. I blame myself, and I wish I could go back and change what happened. But I can’t . . . the only thing I can do is do everything I can to catch the bastard. I owe Bucky that much.”

Slightly surprised by the detective’s admission, Wade turned his head to look down at the other man. “Yes you do . . . you owe that man so much more. But catching Rumlow is a start.” The mercenary looked back at the picture of Bucky, beaten and broken, “We all owe that kid so much. Now it’s time we pay up.”

*******************

Bucky turned slowly back to the two attorneys, mentally seizing them up, comparing them to his memory of the pair. At least neither of them were huge, well-built men; they appeared actually a few years younger than him. The blond seemed husky more than built, and the dark-haired blind man was slender and unassuming. Very slowly, the reporter removed his cramped, shaking right hand from his pocket and placed it in Matt’s hand, knowing it was one of the few ways he could show the blind lawyer just how bad he’d been injured, how badly he needed more recovery time. They’d shaken hands in the past, when Bucky had been actively chasing stories and gathering information about Hell’s Kitchen and Fisk.

Furrowing his brow slightly, Matt lightly grasped the unfamiliar hand. Tony had told him that Bucky’s right hand had been damaged, but the attorney did not think it had been this severe. The limb seemed stiff and nearly inhuman.

“Hello, again, Matt,” Bucky said very softly, his voice rasping due to the throat injury that would never fully heal.

The voice almost startled the blind man. Bucky’s voice didn’t have the smooth, confident tone that it once held; now it sounded rough and meek. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Barnes. Though I do wish it was under different circumstances.”

Tony interrupted, smiling smoothly, despite the awkwardness of Bucky’s interaction, and offered, “Bucky, this is Matt Murdock and his partner Franklin Nelson.” Tony looked at Bucky directly. “They’re defense lawyers.”

“I’ve met them,” Bucky shook his head slowly. “But I think you’re mixed up, Stark. I’m pressing charges not defending against them.”

Foggy glanced at his partner and cleared his throat slightly. 

Matt, releasing Bucky’s hand, smiled slightly. The defense lawyer nodded once before speaking again, “We know. Mr. Stark has given us a few details about your case against Mr. Fisk. In this instance, we might not just be defense attorneys. That is if you want us to represent you in court.”

Bucky shrugged, sliding his aching hand back into his pocket. “If you get involved, he might put a hit on you, you know,” Bucky told them.

Chuckling lightly, Matt looked over to his partner before returning his gaze at Bucky’s general direction. “I think Foggy and I have been on Fisk’s hitlist for a while now, Mr. Barnes.”

Foggy frowned, slightly paler, but had a determined look in his hazel eyes. He always wanted to do right by the little guy . . . and compared to Fisk? A reporter on indefinite medical leave was certainly the little guy. “We’re willing, but . . . you do realize that a hit could be placed on you, too, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Bucky. If we’re going to be working together, it’s Bucky.” He walked towards the bar and ducked behind it, popping up a moment later with a small bottle and reaching for a tall glass. “Stark, need to open this for me,” he ordered. “I think I’ve secretly been on his list for years, too, but he’s gone too far this time. I don’t know if I can hit him with slander, since he hasn’t exactly lied. And I’ve got to deal with the Freedom of Speech ruckus he’ll most likely start, but I know I have rights to privacy. And he disregarded those rights. He can’t do that just because I’m not rich or famous and he can use the sob story to enhance his status.”

“That’s exactly it, Bucky.” Matt nodded, “We can sue him for invasion of privacy. I’m not saying it’ll be easy. There is no sugar coating this, if you go after Wilson Fisk . . . you’ll have to be prepared for some real dirty tactics. More information about your attack might get leaked, just to try and get you off his back. Or he could go for some more _physical_ alternatives like my partner already warned you about. Fisk will use everything in his arsenal to ruin you.” The lawyer wanted Bucky to understand just what he was signing up for if he wanted to press charges against Wilson Fisk.

Tony strode over and easily opened the pill bottle, shaking three out into the metallic hand. He then filled the glass with a clear liquid from one of the many bar taps. Bucky offered a thankful smile to his roommate then downed the pills and half his water. Finally, Bucky nodded. “Wait here,” he said and headed directly into HQ, without warning Sam and Wade that he was coming in. Ignoring the photos on the screens, knowing his own would most likely be up there, Bucky headed for the files that had been retrieved. Finally, he sighed and called out, “might be easiest if you both come in here. Since you have to obey lawyer-client privilege, you are under strict confidence on what you see here . . . a police investigation going on. But my information of Fisk might help this case,” Bucky turned to wait for them to come in.

Sam gasped. “I don’t think they need to see this stuff, Barnes!”

“Don’t worry, Detective Wilson.” Matt said, tapping his walking stick lightly on the ground as he entered the small room, “I don’t believe I’ll be seeing much of anything.”

Foggy followed his partner and winced at the sight of the gory crime scene photos. He shook his head, having seen as bad before. “They’re photos of the X-Eyes murders, Matt,” he informed the blind lawyer. “And they are pretty graphic.

Matt made a small humming noise from the back of his throat, “What research did you want to show us, Bucky?”

Bucky pulled out several very thick files, using his prosthetic hand. He dropped one after another on the middle table and gestured at last. “My research on Fisk and his operations, possible contacts, and as much as I had gotten on Crossbones before he got me,” Bucky stated. Softly, Bucky added, “I’m one of Fury’s police informants.”

Eyebrows rising into his hairline, Matt looked in the general direction of the journalist’s voice. “Informant? That actually might help your case. Bring public opinion on your side. Could you give me a brief rundown of the research? I’ll have Foggy read them over later but anything you could give us to start on your case would be appreciated.”

“Matt?” Foggy sounded hesitant, “there’s five files as big as yours on your dad’s case . . . each.”

Cocking his head, Matt’s voice sounded perplexed, “Oh? Did you have plans this weekend?”

“Uh, no,” Foggy confirmed and reached for the stack, but Sam’s hand shot out and stopped the young attorney.

“Actually, you can’t remove them from here. Sorry. You’re welcome to read them in the tower, but nothing about this case leaves this floor. In fact, it might even be safer if neither of you are seen coming back after you leave . . . so Fisk or Crossbones can’t link you to this case. We know the guy’s active again,” Sam spilled, but only that small tidbit, “and Bucky’s on his list.”

Bucky immediately turned and walked from the room without a word, and Sam winced.

Matt furrowed his brows, having heard footsteps leave the room. Turning, he followed the retreating steps that he assumed were Bucky’s.

“Damn,” Sam ran a hand through his curls. “Wade, might need to find Steve. Bucky’s probably gonna lose it again.” Sam regretted mentioning the hitman in front of the traumatized reporter.

Wade glared at the detective before turning on his heel and stomping out of the room in search of Steve.

“Bucky?” Matt called out, the slight clicking of his cane against the hard floor echoing throughout the room. “Bucky?”

Bucky stood at the bar again, trembling. He had his glass in his left hand and slowly drank the ice cold water. Hearing Matt, he turned slowly, face stricken, eyes huge. His voice shook, sounding almost small, as he asked “Matt? Yeah?”

Turning his body in the direction of the small voice, Matt cautiously made his way over the the journalist. “You okay? Left in kind of a hurry.”

“Yeah, I . . . uh . . .” he gulped and tried again, voice cracking. “I . . . uh . . . have flashbacks, you know? Things make me worse sometimes. I mean I knew what was in that room, but having Sam say it so bluntly?” He shuddered and wrapped both arms around himself, splashing water.

Making a small hum of agreement, Matt closed the rest of the distance between him and his client. Leaning against the bar, he titled his head, waiting for Bucky to continue.

“I didn’t look at the pictures, you know? But . . . it’s kinda hard to avoid thinking about it . . . when everyone here is working on this case.” Bucky finally put the glass of water down on the wooden bar and hugged himself again. “Sometimes it’s better than others, but just anything can set me off. Then I get lost in the memories and I can’t pull back out. I guess you’ve heard lots of victims say that, huh?” Bucky didn’t seem ashamed, just upset.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to handle this case, Bucky?” Matt asked honestly, seeing no point in avoiding the truth, “A lot worse things are going to be said about you, if you continue with the lawsuit. You will be put on a hitlist. I am not going to lie to you. You are my client and I see no reason not to be honest with you. Fisk will come after you with everything he’s got.”

“Matt,” Bucky faced the blind man directly, as if the lawyer could see directly into his eyes despite his handicap, “I think Fisk is partners with Crossbones. I think he’s the one who ordered him to go after me, which was a bonus for the man since he was after Steve any way. And I think we can catch Fisk in this precisely because of my case.” He took a deep breath. “Crossbones raped me . . . twice . . . and the second time?” Bucky clutched his right arm against his chest hard, “he made me beg him for it . . . and had me tell him how to hurt me . . .” Bucky had tears running down his face and his voice broke at the end, though his mouth worked as if he wanted to say more. Instead he shook his head.

In the doorway, Steve froze, the words that Bucky had just spoken echoing in his ears. Wade seemed to be in the same state as the detective. However, Steve spoke up first. “Bucky . . .” 

Bucky whirled around, eyes wide and haunted, metallic hand shooting out to clutch at the bar. He whimpered.

Turning around in the direction of the new voices and footsteps, Matt frowned. The attorney knew what Bucky had been trying to tell him; if they could get Fisk to admit to any of the horrid specifics of Bucky’s rapes, they could link Fisk as an accomplice. The brunet journalist was using himself as bait . . . bait to catch Fisk and any man working with him. This lawsuit had nothing to do with money, nothing to do with Invasion of Privacy. Bucky was using this lawsuit to take down Wilson Fisk . . . ruin the man at his own game.

Wade clenched his jaw tightly before storming out of the room, not trusting himself to be able to keep himself calm right now. Not with what he just heard. 

Walking over so that he stood in front of his lover, Steve looked at Bucky, all the pain and hurt he felt displayed in those blue eyes. He didn’t reach out, not knowing what Bucky needed right now. “Oh, Bucky. I - - I’m so sorry.”

Bucky whimpered again then launched himself at Steve, almost trying to burrow into his large, steady lover. “Help . . .” he whispered.

From the doorway, Tony said “Steve, take him to his room. Matt, back in the other room, please. Bucky won’t be able to talk for a few hours at least.” His voice sounded controlled and matter of fact, though very commanding.

Nodding, Matt exited the room. He needed to tell his partner about what had just happened, what their new game plan for the case was going to be.

Nearly carrying the journalist to his room, Steve pressed his lips comfortingly to Bucky’s scalp as they entered the bedroom. “You’re okay, Bucky. Baby, you’re safe. I need you to take deep breaths for me.” Separating himself from Bucky, Steve continued, “C’mon, Baby. Sit on the floor with me.” The blond detective sat down carefully and patted the spot next to him.

Bucky obeyed immediately, a sign he was pretty far gone already. He looked to Steve with wide pale-blue eyes, attentive and haunted.

Steve took a deep breath, not wanting to repeat his old mistakes. Slowly he reached out and began to rub the small of the brunet’s back. “C’mon, Buck. Deep breaths for me. In and out. In and out.”

Obeying without question, Bucky let his eyes close and took a shaking, sobbing breath. It took several attempts before he was able to take a full, deep breath and let it out slowly. After several long minutes of the breathing exercise, Bucky settled his legs into a crossed position and let his hands lay limp on his knees.

The blond released a breath and closed his eyes. The admission still replaying in his head. Rumlow had forced Bucky to beg to be hurt . . . tell him what to do to him . . . how to rape him and torture him. Steve felt his eyes unwillingly burn with tears behind his eyelids, his mind flashing to images of Bucky being held down and forced against his will, crying out in pain as Rumlow brutalized him. 

Softly, Bucky said “I’m pressing charges on Fisk, Steve.” His eyes remained closed as he breathed in and out slowly.

Swallowing, Steve nodded once, opening his eyes. “I know you are. You have every right to.” He tried to keep his voice from shaking, from displaying how wrecked he felt.

Bucky finally opened his eyes to study Steve. Frowning softly, he unfolded himself from the meditative pose and crawled across the floor to the man nearby. Slowly, he leaned up to the blond and began to kiss him gently. “I’m here, Steve. I’m safe with you. You know that, right?” It was as if Bucky turned their roles around: he the rescuer and Steve the one in need of support.

Tears rolled down the detective’s cheeks as he embraced his boyfriend. Placing small kisses into Bucky’s hair repeatedly, Steve murmured, “I am so sorry, Bucky. God . . .” 

Shaking his head, Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Stop that, Steve, right now! You had no idea who was after you. You had no idea he’d grab me. What’s important now is that we keep each other safe, right?” He touched Steve’s cheek. “Right?”

Steve nodded and kissed Bucky gently, “Right. You know how much I love you?”

As if thinking over that for a long moment, Bucky finally said “you love me enough to arrest me for being a serial killer to get me the help I need?” Bucky blinked at him with his pale-blue eyes.

Freezing, Steve eyed Bucky, not knowing what to say. “Are you . . . what are you saying, Buck?” The blond’s voice barely reached above a whisper.

Reaching up and stroking Steve’s cheek, Bucky leaned in and stopped a breath away from Steve’s mouth. “I thought about it a lot in the hospital . . . why you would accuse me of that . . . why you would pursue it. And I remembered at last you said that there were people who could help me. You actually wanted to get me help, not lock me away. It took a few months, but I realized you had to love me to forgive me for murder, even if I wasn’t the murderer. You forgave me and wanted to help me . . .” Bucky tilted his mouth and whispered “that’s love, Steve,” and he sealed his lips over his boyfriend’s.

A new wave of tears fell down his cheeks as he returned Bucky’s kiss with a passion. Steve’s arms wrapped tightly around the journalist’s waist and the blond pulled away. He leaned his forehead against the brunet’s shoulder and let out a loud sob, all the feelings of regret and love spilling out. He couldn’t stop, his shoulders began to shake with the force of his sobs.

Holding him close in his strong arms, Bucky merely let the other man cry for a long while. Finally, he gave Steve a firm shake. “Hey, babe, if you want, you can spend the night. We can make a pillow fort . . . I used to do that as a kid when I felt bad . . .”

Steve pulled away and let out a soft laugh as he wiped away the trail of tears. “Okay. Let’s make a fort.”

“Want to use the mattress, too? I’m a lot stronger than when I was ten, so I can help move it . . . we can angle it against the frame and pile all of Tony’s spare pillows around and toss throw pillows at anyone who tries to invade our camp. We’ll call it . . .” He tilted his head as if thinking then smiled, “The Howling Commando Base.” Bucky stood up and offered both hands to Steve, his right only shaking slightly, smiling at his lover. “Come, love, let’s go steal Tony’s pillows.”

Taking both of Bucky’s hands in his own, Steve allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. Draping his arm across his lover’s shoulders, Steve brought Bucky close to his side. “Alright, I’m sure he probably has, like, the softest pillows ever.”

“And enough to build three forts,” Bucky confirmed, leading his lover from the room.


	9. Traumatic Confusion

Chapter Nine

“Fuck!” Wade screamed as he kicked a near-empty trashcan. The aluminum object fell over and the clatter echoed throughout the small alley a few blocks away from Stark Tower.

Hands clenched in tight fists by his sides, the mercenary let out another angry scream. His breathing came out in harsh, ragged breaths and he could feel his blood pounding in his ears. Another wave of anger surged through the ex-military man and he slapped his hands on the cool brick wall next to him. His whole body trembled; the only thing he wanted to do right now was find Brock Rumlow and bury the man six feet under the ground.

His Sarge, one of the only men Wade could honestly call a friend, had been brutally raped; not once . . . but twice. The sick bastard had made Bucky beg for it, forced him to participate in his own sexual assault. Wade’s fists clenched again and it took everything in him not to punch the wall in front of him until his knuckles bled. Forcing himself to take deep breaths, the mercenary could feel his anger dissipating slightly.

“Mr. Deadpool?” A small, careful voice called out.

Snapping his head up, Wade turned to look at the person who’d called him by his old codename. His eyes narrowed when he instantly recognized the large-eyed journalist from the shooting range. Peter . . . Peter Parker.

Releasing a deep breath, Wade shook his head, “Now ain’t a good time, kid. What are you doing here anyway? Ain’t stalking us, right?”

“Stalking?” He literally squeaked in a sound between shock and fear. “N . . . no! Why would I . . . uh . . . no . . . I’m not . . .” Peter shook his head, hands coming up in a gesture of self-defense, palms out. “I . . . I was just . . . and you . . . so, yeah,” he gestured down the street then back at Wade. “I just . . . yeah, um . . . so . . . wanna see?” Peter’s large brown eyes met Wade’s equally dark eyes.

A low growl, unwillingly, left Wade’s lips and his eyes narrowed even further, his rage coming out in his tone, “See? See what, Kid?”

“Uh . . . the article? About Fisk?” Peter swallowed and fished in his pocket for his Ipod.

Pushing off the wall and striding towards the lanky brunet, the mercenary held out his hand, his anger seeming to dissipate slightly in the journalist’s presence. “Whatcha got, Kid?”

Peter finally found the small device and held it up with a self-conscious smile. He flicked it on and started reading. “The city was shocked yesterday when mayoral candidate Wilson Fisk told the viewers that a well-loved journalist and lead crime reporter for the Daily Press, Mr. James Barnes, was viciously assaulted at the hands of a recently alleged serial killer and kidnapper. Mr. Fisk also stated that he had been held against his will at the hands of the same assailant.” Peter took a breath and glanced at Wade then continued, “However, after contacting Mr. Barnes for his statement, it has been discovered that Mr. Barnes was not privy to Mr. Fisk’s television interview beforehand and had not given permission for any information pertaining to this alleged kidnapping and assault to come forward. Has Mr. Fisk, in his anger at the police, gone too far? Does any private citizen have the right to disseminate personal information of such a delicate nature without the consent of the victim involved? And how does this information affect the safety and well-being of Mr. Barnes, truly an innocent pawn in this apparent political game of Mr. Fisk’s? The mayoral candidate has claimed the police are at fault for the latest attacks; however, is this difficulty in defending our city from neglect as Mr. Fisk alleges? Or is it because we need more funding and better training for our hard-pressed ‘boys in blue?’ More information is pending.” Peter lowered the Ipod and looked back up at Wade.

The mercenary stared at Peter for a couple moments, the words of the article echoing in his ears, before making a low hum of approval. “Nice work, Baby-Boy. You do realize, though, that as soon as your publish that article you will be on Fisk’s shit list?”

Gulping, Peter nodded. “Yeah, but it’s the truth . . . and I always want to tell the truth if I can, you know? I don’t like how Fisk thinks he can step on people’s rights and try to manipulate the public. Because of that guy, my Uncle Ben’s outta work.” He ran a hand through his dark curls.

Cocking his head slightly, Wade looked at Peter, his eyes swarming with curiosity. “How’d Fisk put your uncle outta work?”

“Uncle Ben used to be an electrician down at City Hall, but somehow the wires literally got crossed and Fisk’s little office got fried. Uncle Ben never worked in that part of the building, but Fisk had papers saying Uncle Ben did the wiring . . . so, not only did my uncle lose that contract, he had to repay the city for the fire damage . . . and Fisk got moved to a nice big corner office.” Frustration seemed to pour off the college kid in waves. “So, anything I can do to expose him for the rat he is . . . well, yeah . . .” he fell silent, head bowed, dark eyes angry.

“Fisk is a piece of work, ain’t he?” Wade clapped the younger man’s shoulder lightly, “Well . . . I’ll tell ya one thing. If anyone had to take Bucky’s spot at the newspaper . . . I know he’d be glad it was you. You actually remind me a lot of him when he was first starting out at the paper. My God, couldn’t get the guy to shut up about exposing the truth and whatnot.”

A slow smile crossed Peter’s face and his eyes lit up. “Really?” He slid the Ipod back into his bag. “Well, I’m glad I’m following him in his footsteps then. Uh . . .” he flushed a bit and looked up and down the street. “Um . . . do you think I can keep working with you guys on this story? My editor says if it’s got any meat, I’m to give it to Eddie Brock. But, if you say you guys want only to talk to me . . . you know . . . exclusively, I can keep the story and maybe get noticed by someone important.”

Groaning loudly, Wade shook his head, “Eddie? God, Bucky complained nonstop about that asswipe. Said he fabricated pictures to make his stories.”

“Well, if he gets my story,” Peter said in a determined voice, “Mr. Barnes will get to talk to him a whole lot.”

“Well . . . of course I’ll have to run it by Bucky first . . . but I can guarantee you that he won’t want to work with that bastard. So you should be okay.” Wade paused for a moment before taking a deep breath, “Look, Kid, I don’t wanna talk about the case or whatever right now. Need to get my mind off things.”

With a nod, Peter shrugged, tugging his backpack further up onto his shoulder. “I used to go to the skate park sometimes to think, but that got shut down three months ago for ‘safety issues and encouraging deviant behavior after dark’, so basically I just use the city as my jungle gym . . . you know, hang out on roofs and climb fire escapes and jump . . . uh . . .” he flushed and shut his mouth.

Cocking an eyebrow, Wade gave the journalist an amused smile, “You really are a Spider Monkey. Saw you jump on the fire escape earlier today. How long have you been doing parkour or whatever the hell you were doing?”

“Yeah,” Peter looked nervously over his shoulder again and lowered his voice.”It’s parkour. And I know it’s considered dangerous and reckless and City Hall’s looking to get it banned, but it feels good to stretch every muscle and sense, you know? I love the feeling of almost flying and practically crawling walls and stuff.” He sighed.

“Wanna show me whatcha got, Baby-Boy? I’ve got some moves myself.” Wade gave Peter a suggestive wink and his signature grin.

Peter slowly looked at Wade, eyeing him a long moment. Slipping his backpack securely over both shoulders and making sure it was tied shut properly, Peter grinned wide. “Sure. Let’s go.” And he was off, leaping high to catch onto an awning and flipping himself gymnastically up onto the material. From there, without a beat, the reporter flung himself sideways to a window ledge barely six inches wide, grasped it like a monkey-bar and pulled himself up. From the ledge he lept to another ledge then a fire escape that was tied up, illegally, to prevent people playing on it. Racing up the fire escape ladder without even using his hands, Peter flung himself from the ladder two stories up, landing on a low roof and disappearing from view.

Staring up as Peter’s body disappeared from view, Wade shook his head, “Fucking Spider Man . . .” he grumbled before taking off on the same route the brunet had just moments before.

*************

 

Smiling as he glanced over at Steve, cuddled into their very large, very cushy fort of pillows and mattress, Bucky turned back to the laptop and reread what he’d written while Steve dozed.With a nod, he began to pick out the letters slowly, deliberately using his right hand properly, despite the difficulty. Hell, if he ever wanted to get full use again, the brunet could not baby himself. Bucky seriously considered finding a physical therapist here in New York to continue with the recovery.

Bucky began to softly hum as he typed from his notes, as brief as they were, and his memory, which was far greater. Nodding, he smiled as the words flowed. He felt good, giving back to someone who’d helped so few people, not from lack of trying but lack of funds. Maybe with his help, Bucky get get Fred’s therapy range off the ground.

Leaning over to place a gentle kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck, Steve murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep, “You look so cute when you’re concentrating.”

Sighing, Bucky turned to look at Steve, still smiling. “Well, I’m trying to write an article and it’s been awhile,” he explained without really giving anything away. Bucky didn’t deliberately hide anything from Steve; it had become habit when competing with that low-life story thief, Eddie Brock.

Placing more soft kisses to the crook of his lover’s neck, Steve breathed, “Whatcha writin’ about?”

With a delighted hum, Bucky leaned into the warm kisses.”Know how Wade took me shootin’ today?”

“Mhmm.” The blond nodded, not moving his lips from the journalist’s neck.

“Well,” Bucky lifted his hands, flexing the right and wincing slightly, “Fred runs a range for injured vets, and other people who need to relearn how to shoot . . .how to take back their control. He’s practically broke and relies heavily on donations because he refuses to charge people more than they can afford.” Bucky turned his blue-grey eyes on his lover. “I was thinking that with a little community support, he can get help running the place and really reach out to people. He’d need staff, as well as someone to vet the people coming in for hardship and need . . . you know? Don’t want someone taking advantage of the old warhorse.” Bucky kissed Steve’s lips briefly before turning back to his keyboard.

Steve’s heart swelled with happiness, just watching Bucky get excited over something again made the detective think that things were starting to look up. “You’re amazing. You know that right, Buck?” The blond whispered into the brunet’s ear.

“Me?” Bucky shook his head and shot Steve an amused grin, “nah. _Fred’s_ amazing for putting himself out there to help us vets. Wade’s amazing for helping him under the table and getting the word out. Me? I’m just a reporter who sniffed out a story no one’s bother to tell yet. It’s my job.”

Rolling his eyes and letting out a loud huff of breath, Steve wrapped his arms around the journalist’s waist and began to kiss his shoulder. “I think you’re amazing.” The blond muttered between kisses. “I think you’re the most amazing person in the entire world.”

A loud laugh escaped the brunet reporter and he shook his head, lifting his hands from the keyboard and turning fully to the other man. “Steve, I’d say you are biased,” he practically cooed, leaning into the large man and nuzzling his neck. “You are amazing to me, know that? The shit you’ve seen? The stuff you’ve put up with? And you still can smile and love someone . . . that takes a real man, Steve, to see all the bad and still find the good.” He lifted his face, tracing his mouth over Steve’s full lips. “Mmmm . . . you taste great, Stevie.”

“You deserve someone that treats you amazingly . . . I’m just waiting for you to come to your senses.” The blond breathed into the brunet’s mouth before returning the kiss.

“Ha!” Bucky shook his head and kissed his lover again. “Did that once, ‘member? Didn’t go so well for us. I think I’d rather be senseless when it comes to you.” Bucky ran both hands up Steve’s chest, the difference between the shifting metal and the cramped flesh very evident. “Hey, Baby, wanna make love?” Bucky breathed into the larger man’s ear.

Steve’s breath hitched in his throat; he looked at his boyfriend with wide eyes. “What? You . . . are you sure? I don’t wanna . . . we don’t hafta do anything. I don’t want ya to feel pressured or nothin’.”

Falling still at Steve’s word, Bucky nodded. He pulled his hands back and softly said, “yeah . . .no pressure. Of course.” He turned back to his keyboard but didn’t type anything, just staring at the blinking cursor on the screen. “I get it. It’s okay. I’m going . . . fast . . . or maybe . . .” he shut up.

Growling softly, Steve grabbed the brunet and softly turned the other man around. The detective crashed his lips against Bucky’s with a fierce passion. “Of course I wanna make love, Baby.”

Bucky let out a small scream and pushed back, hard, eyes wide. “No!” He shuddered then hung his head, hugging himself. “Sorry . . . too . . . too fast . . . too rough . . .”

“Christ!” Steve exclaimed, his arms dropping to his side. “Oh my God! Bucky, I’m so sorry! Shit, I’m such an idiot! I’m sorry!” The detective felt his skin flush with part embarrassment, part horror. 

Without saying anything, Bucky merely watched Steve with wide tear-washed eyes, trembling. He swallowed then softly said “I guess . . . I started that . . . sorry . . . I . . .” He shook his head. “I’m sorry for the mixed signals?” The question in his voice echoed the confusion in his eyes. “But you seemed not to wanna then . . .uh . . .”

Shaking his head, Steve let out a loud sigh, running his hand through his short hair. “You have nothing to be sorry about . . . I shouldn’t have . . . God, I’m so sorry! Please . . . I didn’t mean too . . . to do that.”

“Me, too, Steve . . . I’m sorry I’m so . . . damaged.” He began to get to his feet. “I’m . . . broken I guess . . . and . . . and . . .” he couldn’t help but think he’d become somehow twisted under Rumlow’s brief control. Was he really playing Steve? Playing the cocktease, like Rumlow had screamed at him in that closet before thrusting into his mouth? Bucky sobbed, trembles turning into shaking, causing him to fall back to his knees.

“You’re not damaged!” Steve said, “That was all on me . . . I’m so sorry.” The blond inched over to the brunet to kneel in front of his lover, but he didn’t embrace the trembling brunet; Steve didn’t want to frighten the other man even more.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky seemed to get total control over himself suddenly. The shaking stopped, the tears ended abruptly, and he looked past Steve’s shoulder. Quietly, but clearly, he said, “Okay, I’m ready.”

“What?” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and he looked at Bucky intently. “Ready for what?”

Bucky said, “to make love now.” He still looked into the distance, but he sounded very clear and controlled. “I won’t freak out again. I promise,” he added softer.

Gently, Steve placed his hands on either side of Bucky’s face, “We don’t have to do anything right now, if you’re not ready. I don’t want to push you, Baby. Are you absolutely sure?”

In that same calm voice, still looking past Steve, Bucky said ”yes. I’m ready.”

“Bucky,” the blond called in a soft, but stern tone, “I need you to look at me.”

Slowly, Bucky turned his eyes to Steve’s . . . and they were distant, almost hollow. It was as if he wasn’t there in his body . . . as if he’d gone somewhere else. “Yes?” he asked, still calm, still softly.

Steve shook his head and dropped his hands. “We aren’t doing anything tonight, Baby.” Placing a light kiss on the other man’s forehead, before continuing, “Take some deep breaths for me? Please, Baby, c’mon deep breaths.”

“You don’t want to love me, Steve?” Bucky sounded a bit puzzled, a bit worried.

Inside Steve’s heart thumped heavily against his ribcage and it took everything in him to keep his voice steady, “I love you, Bucky. But we aren’t doing that tonight. C’mon take deep breaths . . . please, Buck? For me?”

As if confused by the request, Bucky drew in a deep breath and held it, his steel-blue eyes watching Steve intently. Slowly, he let the air out and tilted his head. “More?”

Smiling slightly, even though Steve could feel his eyes burning with unshed tears, Steve nodded, “Yeah, Baby. C’mon . . . in and out.”

Bucky breathed again, deeply, and held it for several long seconds. Slowly, he let it out again and frowned, still looking puzzled. “And this is helping you?” he asked, sounding distant but controlled.

Steve knew then what he was doing wasn’t helping Bucky. “Jarvis?” The blond called out not tearing his gaze from his boyfriend.

“Yes, Detective?” Jarvis’s calm, cultured voice sounded over the airwaves.

“Can you get Riley for me? Please?” Steve asked. 

“Of course, Detective.” Jarvis barely paused before he added, “while he is untangling himself, would you mind if I advised you on my past observations?”

“Please. I-I don’t know what to do.” The blond could hear the tremble in his voice.

“I do not claim to have a deeper understanding of human trauma or mental states, but I believe the Sergeant may feel he enticed you and withheld afterwards. He may be trying to make up for his promiscuous behavior by offering himself without reservations . . . as perhaps a way to apologize for causing you confusion and trauma yourself. This usually occurs in one of his fugue states, which means he is not cognizant of what he’s doing.”

If Steve’s heart hadn’t broken at the sight of seeing the distant look in Bucky’s eyes, it did as Jarvis explained the situation to him. “Oh, Buck . . .” Steve muttered.

“Yes, Steve?” Bucky replied, watching him carefully, keeping his back straight, his hands on his thighs.

“Bucky? Steve?” Riley called out as he ran into the room. He froze at the sight of the pillow fort, Jarvis had already told him what happened so he knew what to expect. “Bucky?” The therapist called again as he crawled through the small opening of the fort.

Glancing in the direction of his friend’s voice, Bucky frowned softly and chewed at his bottom lip. He looked from Steve to Riley then began to tremble slightly. Nodding, as if in response to something, he began to unbutton his shirt. “Uh . . . okay . . .”

Steve, unable to watch the scene anymore, shook his head and abruptly left the fort. He needed to get some air, he couldn’t do this.

Freezing in place, Bucky frowned and called out, “Steve? I . . . I’ll leave my shirt on . . . please . . . don't be angry?” He sounded scared now.

Riley’s eyes softened and he closed the distance between himself and his patient. “He’s not angry, Bucky.” The ex-paratrooper gingerly began to rub circles on the small of Bucky’s back, trying to ground the other man.

Instantly, Bucky whimpered and looked at Riley. “I don’t know what to do . . . I teased him . . . I should let him relieve . . .”

“No, Bucky. That’s not . . . not how things work. You’re allowed to say no at any time.” Riley continued to rub his hand soothingly on the brunet’s back. “C’mon, deep breaths. In and out.”

Nodding, the reporter slowly drew in a deep breath and let it out. He continued to breath, very slowly, very deeply, holding it then releasing it. After about seven breathes, Bucky’s eyes closed and he sat on his ass, crossing his legs.

Steve cautiously entered the enclosed area again, Jarvis having told him that Bucky had calmed down and was mediating. The detective looked at Riley, and the therapist instantly noted the red eyes and trail of tears. Steve sat down next to Riley, a little further from his boyfriend then he had been.

A long moment passed and Bucky opened his eyes, still breathing. He looked around absently, then up at Steve . . . and frowned slightly. Breaking his breathing pattern, he asked, “um . . . Stevie? What’d I do?” he was almost afraid of the answer. “Did I hurt you?” He hated the sight of the salt-streaked face and red-rimmed eyes.

Smiling softly, knowing the expression did not meet his eyes, Steve shook his head. “You didn’t hurt me, Buck.”

Sighing, Bucky let his head hang down. “I can’t remember . . . which means it was bad, wasn't it?” He glanced up at Steve through his lashes.

Looking at Riley for a moment, who simply nodded once, before turning his gaze back to his lover, Steve shook his head again. “Uh . . . it wasn’t . . . well you . . . you had another one of your fugue states.” The detective winced before continuing, “We didn’t . . . do anything.”

The brunet nodded slowly. “Last I recall, I was talking about my story and kissing you.” He sighed. “Did I try to . . .” he flushed and shook his head. “I’m sorry I lose control like that, Steve. I’m working on it. I promise.”

“It was my fault, Bucky. I scared you. You have nothing to apologize for.” Steve’s eyes fell to the floor.

“Don’t see how you coulda scared me unless you growled or something,” Bucky tried a light joke, but he still sounded a bit frustrated. “Or maybe moved too quickly. I’m really on high alert all the time and fast movements, especially from big guys, can be frightening to me.” Bucky looked to Steve, hoping he may have figured out his trigger this time.

“I . . . uh, well I might’ve growled . . . and then I did move kinda fast. I’m sorry, Buck . . . really I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m still trying to learn what not to do.” Steve’s voice rose barely above a whisper, and he didn’t raise his eyes to meet his boyfriend’s.

Nodding, Bucky looked at the blond detective. “So am I, Steve.” He sighed. “And that was a joke about the growling . . . but yeah, if you moved quick while you were growling, that might’ve done it.” He shook his head. “I just hope I didn't try to rape you again,” he added bitterly.

Eyes snapping up to finally meet Bucky’s, Steve stated, “That’s not what happened, Bucky. We’ve been over this.”

“Right. I keep getting told by everyone that I get all needy and sexual but the one time, at least the one I’m told about, I succeed in getting someone to have sex with me, it’s not a forced encounter. Got it,” Bucky bitterly spat out, curling his arms around himself again.

“I can’t do this right now.” Steve muttered, “I’m sorry, Bucky. Really I am.” The detective shifted so that his body faced the opening of the pillow fort.

Bucky threw his hands into the air. “Right . . . can I just ask one thing? Please?” His tone came softer, almost pleading.

Turning halfway, Steve met Bucky’s eyes again and nodded once.

Taking a deep breath, leaning forward slightly, Bucky staid “no one will tell me what I do when I'm that way. How can I know what I’ve done to entice you if no one will tell me? As far as I can tell, in that blankness of time, I tied you up and held a gun to your head. So, please, Steve. What did I do? What did I say? Prove to me it wasn’t forced?”

Flicking his eyes to Riley, Steve took a deep breath.

Anger flared suddenly. “Fuck Riley, Steve, this is me. I want to know and my therapist can’t stop me from finding out.” Bucky crossed his arms, right hand clenched in an actual fist.

Swallowing hard, Steve shook his head, “I’ll tell you, but not when you are in this state, Bucky.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, I can understand that.” He sighed. Standing, Bucky pulled his laptop from the fort and sat outside of it, in the wide open air. “Okay, I’ll give you all the time you need, Stevie . . . as long as you can fill in my blanks?” He turned worried eyes on the blond. “All I can think is that I either hurt you and no one will tell me, or I did something that drove you over the edge, and I want to avoid that. I’d rather we both were in control.” Bucky began to shakily type at his story again, his right hand slow and trembling but still picking out letter by letter.

Taking a shaky breath, Steve nodded as he stepped out of the fort again, “Alright . . . I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to tell you, Bucky.”

Bucky muttered softly, but still audible enough to the two other men, “it’s not as if you raped me or anything.” He continued to type, staring at the small black letters as they appeared on his lit up screen.

The detective flinched as if the words physically hit him, “Don’t say that. Please.”

Slowly, Bucky raised his head, eyes widening. “Steve . . . do you think you raped me?” He shook his head and pushed his laptop aside and knelt in front of his boyfriend. “You did not do that, Steve. I might not have been aware of things, but I know you. You wouldn’t lose yourself so much you’d hurt someone telling you to stop.” He reached out to touch the blond’s cheek with his left hand, fingers cold.

Eyes burning with a new wave of tears, Steve pulled away from Bucky’s touch sharply. “You don’t know that! Have you looked at your arm or at your neck? Bucky . . . I took advantage of you.”

Confusion welled in those steel-blue depths and he frowned, shaking his head. “You scraped my arm and clawed my neck?” His tone sounded disbelieving.

“Well . . . you clawed at your neck . . . but you got those bruises because you were putting all your weight on that arm.”

The brunet rolled his eyes. “I hurt my arm when I fell out of bed, you dolt.”

Steve shook his head and stood up, “I can’t . . . Bucky I can’t do this right now. I-I need to get air.”

Confusion again rose in the reporter’s eyes “Why? I thought we were having a really good conversation right now. Things were getting sorted, weren’t they?” But he didn’t stop Steve, just watching him with those hurt, confused eyes.

Closing his eyes, a few tears falling from his eyes, Steve shook his head. “I-I . . . I’m fucking ashamed of what I did, alright?”

“Ah,” Bucky sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Sorry I pushed.” Bucky scooted back away from his lover and reached for his laptop. “I’m ashamed of what I did, too.”

Steve groaned, “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing that happened was your fault.”

“I came,” Bucky whispered towards his screen, eyes closed.

“What?” Steve asked, he could now feel his blood pounding in his ears.

Shaking his head and closing the laptop, Bucky looked directly at Steve, his eyes haunted and filled with the shame he claimed to feel. “I came . . . I don’t know how many times, all right? I’m a sick fuck.” He stood and walked towards the door. “So, I get it, okay?”

“Bucky?” Steve called out his voice shaky, “What are you talking about?”

The reported stopped, head hanging low, his left hand bracing on the doorjamb, his right curled against his abdomen. “With Rumlow . . . “ he whimpered. “I came . . . I lost count how many times.” He shuddered. “I had to tell him what to do to turn me on, and it worked. It turned me on.”

Steve’s whole world felt like it was crumbling around him. The detective’s heart lept into his throat and he couldn’t form words.

“So, yeah, I know what it is to be ashamed of what you've done . . . even if everyone tells you it’s not your fault. It still feels like it is. Like if I did something differently, things would have gone better? So . . .” Bucky looked over his shoulder, “I’m sorry I pushed, Steve.” He turned back towards the door and put his forehead on the jamb, not leaving.

“Bucky?” Steve whimpered, his throat closing due to the tears that threatened to spill.

The reporter turned fully at that heartbroken tone. “Yeah?” he asked, tired and wary. “I don’t know how to help, Steve? I’m so broken myself, I’m not sure if I can fix anyone else, no matter how much I love you.”

“I’m not asking you to fix me. Hell, I’m not fixing you . . . Riley isn’t fixing you.” Steve muttered, “Because you aren’t broken.”

A look of puzzlement crossed the brunet’s face. “I can’t remember when I panic . . . “

“That doesn’t make you broken, Bucky. We are in this together.” Steve took a deep breath, “I’m sorry you . . . can’t remember . . . but,” Steve closed his eyes and took another breath. 

Slowly, the lean man strode to his muscular boyfriend and gently placed his hands on either side of Steve’s face, meeting his eyes directly. “Steve . . . tell me . . . did you draw blood intentionally?”

“No.” Steve shook his head furiously.

Bucky nodded once and asked, “and did you know I was so far gone I wouldn’t remember?”

“No.” The detective murmured, “I . . . I thought that . . . you wanted me. Like you used to.”

“Well, you got that right,” Bucky laughed almost bitterly. “I’ve been wanting you for the last nine months, actually.” He shrugged slightly and moved his hands down to Steve’s shoulders. “So, I didn’t refuse, you didn’t purposely force yourself on me . . . there was no gun or weapon and no bindings?” He tilted his head.

“God no.” Steve answered quickly, eyes widening slightly at the statement. 

“Good, that’s good,” Bucky actually smiled, relief bubbling up. “You didn’t demand something I wouldn’t normally do in my right mind?”

“No?” Steve’s voice trailed, “At least I sure as hell hope not.” 

Bucky smiled slightly and leaned his forehead against Steve’s. “So, let’s pretend I didn’t have a panic attack or a fugue state, okay? Was the sex good? It wasn't too disgusting or kinky or painful, right?”

A flush creeped onto his cheeks, and Steve rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. Knowing that he should just tell Bucky what he was holding back, Steve felt fear tighten his chest. 

Noticing the flush, Bucky straightened. “So,” he tilted his head. “I wanted something too kinky and you obliged me?”

“No.” Steve whimpered, “I’m scared, Bucky.”

“So, I wanted disgusting then?” He stroked Steve’s check. “Just answer my questions. Don’t think, just answer. I wanted disgusting?”

“You didn’t want anything, Bucky! You didn’t do anything!” Steve spat out, his own self-hatred spilling into his tone.

Puzzled once more, Bucky hesitated then softly asked, “did I play dead?”

“You only did what I asked of you. Then you stayed completely still . . .” Steve’s eyes fell to the floor, unable to look at his boyfriend’s reaction.

Surprise coursed through the tall brunet and his eyes widened. Slowly, he shook his head, relief dancing behind gentle amusement. “Oh,” Bucky stroked Steve’s face again. “So, I played submissive.” He thoughtfully looked off into the distance then back at Steve. “So, you didn’t like being the dominant . . . or . . .” suddenly, Bucky leaned closer. “You did like being the one in charge?”

“Bucky . . .” Steve whined, “I dominated you without your permission.”

“My God, and here I imagined that I locked up in a closet and did all kinds of terrible things to you!” Bucky genuinely laughed in relief and lay his face in Steve’s shoulder. “Sorry . . . sorry, Stevie,” he gasped between chuckles. “But we’re supposed to be forgetting that stupid fugue thing . . . you know, where I revert to my most basic, primal self and do what I’ve always been afraid to do? We’re supposed to forgot that and just talk right now.”

“What do you mean . . . always been afraid to do?” Steve asked, completely confused.

The brunet shrugged his shoulder, this time looking away, unable to meet the blond’s eyes.”I . . . uh . . . never liked being out of control. I . . . always want to be in charge . . “ He looked at the floor and softly added, “but, well, sometimes I don’t want to be the one making the calls. You know, the Sergeant . . . sometimes I wanna be the Private again.” Bucky flushed brightly.

“Oh . . .” Steve said as what Bucky said dawned on him. 

Bucky’s head shot up. “Not that I want pain or rape or anything,” he rushed to say, intent on letting his lover know that what Rumlow did was truly traumatizing. “But . . . sometimes I . . . sometimes I want someone else to take charge.” He flushed and closed his eyes.

“Of course you don’t . . .” Steve lowered his voice so that only Bucky could hear his next words, “When you’re ready . . . I can take charge . . . Private.”

A tremble of a completely different sort ran through the reporter and his eyes flew open. He looked at Steve and whispered, “then you’ll show me what we did? When I’m ready?”

Kissing his boyfriend’s temple before whispering back, “When you’re ready . . . I can show you so much more.” 

Slowly, Bucky smiled and leaned up to kiss Steve softly. “I think I’d like that, Captain,” he murmured.

A small jolt of pleasure ran down Steve’s spine at Bucky’s words, but the detective took a deep breath, trying to keep himself in control. The last thing he needed was for Bucky to notice his growing erection just from the few words that brunet had muttered.

Leaning against Steve to kiss him again, Bucky whimpered as he felt the growing erection in Steve’s pants . . . mirroring his own need. He whimpered again and whispered, “Steve, are you thinking of me under you?”

“Bucky . . .” Steve groaned, another pleasurable charge coursing through his body.

Laughing softly, Bucky whispered, “slow, gentle . . . nothing quick or too strong . . . okay?” He ran his right hand carefully down Steve’s chest, the fingers trembling, but his whimpers and trembling felt different - - less like fear and more like desire.

Jarvis’s voice chimed through the room, “Doctor? You are requested to assist Attorney Nelson, please.”

Riley cleared his throat and nodded, obviously not needed here anymore. “Right. I’ll . . . uh - - just go.” The therapist slid past the couple and out the door.

Laying his right hand on Steve’s shoulder, left curling around to flatten at the small of Steve’s back, Bucky said “Steve? Can we open the window? Then we can shut the door . . .” He grinned gently. “That way I feel like I’ve got an escape route, you know?”

Steve nodded and walked over to the window, “Hey, J? Could ya unlock the window for me?”

The window unlocked and slid open slightly, allowing them to maneuver it easily. A Steve dealt with that, Bucky turned and slowly shut the door. Turning back to Steve, Bucky nodded. “So, do we dismantle the fort or what? The bed’s got no mattress . . .”

“How about we claim the fort?” Steve waggled his eyebrows, chuckling lightly at his own joke.

Bucky threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, so we kick out the Howlin’ Commandos and just take it over as the Howlers?” He leered at Steve, walking slowly towards the fort. He paused, and gestured towards the entrance. “After you, lover,” he hinted with a smile.

The blond smiled at his boyfriend before slipping past Bucky and into the fort. Steve made sure to turn on the small lantern, as it was starting to get dark. The small space lit up in a soft yellow glow, casting shadows on the blankets that enclosed the area. 

Buky got on his hands and knees and crawled inside, smiling at the light Steve had provided. “Your remembered,” he whispered, still smiling. “Gently, he kissed his lover and tilted his face to look down at steve’s bulge. “So, wanna strip ourselves or help each other?”

Without verbally answering, Steve slowly reached out and began to unbutton Bucky’s shirt. The blond’s fingertips lingered on the other man’s collarbone.

Bucky nodded and sat back on his heels, watching Steve intently but still smiling. “It’s so small in here, I don’t know if we can both maneuver without knocking it down,” he laughed. But he reached over to grip Steve’s shirt, pulling it carefully from the waistband.

Undoing the last button, Steve leaned over to brush his lips against Bucky’s neck and carefully slipped the thin shirt off the brunet’s shoulders.

Humming in quiet pleasure, Bucky rang the fingers of his right hand over Steve’s uncovered abdomen. He slid his left hand under the waistband and over Steve’s buttock. “Wish I could feel with this thing,” he sighed. “You’re skin is heavenly.”

Steve placed a trail of open mouthed kisses all the way up his lover’s neck before breathing heavy into Bucky’s ear. “You’re heavenly, Buck. God . . . everything about you is perfect.”

His lover shook his brunet head and pulled his hand back from Steve’s butt. “You still need glasses,” he murmured then leaned back so he could tug Steve’s shirt over his head. “God, I love your body, Stevie!” He ran both hands over the tight muscles in the blond’s massive chest.

“And I love you.” Steve whispered as he ran his hand down Bucky’s spine. “I love the way your eyes sparkle when you laugh. I love how your nose scrunches up when you don’t agree with something. I love you . . . one look at you and my breath is taken away. You’re remarkable, Bucky.”

Laughing softly, Bucky kissed Steve’s shoulder then licked at the line of the muscle. “I love you, darlin’,” he breathed. “Can you take my pants off me now? I’m starting to hurt.”

“So pushy.” Steve laughed as he unbuttoned the brunet’s pants.

“Well, I could just let you, but I’m in the mood to push today,” he chuckled. Bucky lay back on his arms, his feet still tucked under him in an amazingly acrobatic pose. He grinned mischievously up at the detective, not unbending his knees to help. He wore no underpants, yet again, and his erection popped out of his slacks once they were far enough down, the fleshy head hitting his abdomen.

“So beautiful.” Steve purred as he shifted so that he leaned over his lover, slowly he pressed his lips to the skin just above Bucky’s navel. “You have no idea what you do to me, Buck.” The blond murmured against the smooth skin.

“I do know,” Bucky breathed out, head falling back. He slowly uncurled first one leg then the other and shimmied his pants down past his knees. “‘Cause you’re as hard as I am.” Not removing his pants further, Bucky shifted so he could unfasten his love's trousers. “Now you. Let’s get your free from this cotton,” he crooned.

Obliging his lover’s orders, Steve slipped out of both his pants and boxers, groaning softly as his erection brushed against the skin of Bucky’s thigh.

Reaching out, Bucky brushed his flesh fingers against Steve’s hard-on. He leaned forward and let his tongue lap out over the head, dipping into the slit carefully then stroking around and down the underside, along the vein. “Mmmm . . . I missed you, Stevie,” he murmured as he licked and made small suckles at the flesh.

“Missed . . . ya - - oh, God. Buck.” Steve’s eyes fluttered closed, “So . . . perfect.”

With a soft chuckle, hot breath caressing Steve’s member, Bucky slowly pulled away, his right hand partially curled around Steve but not completely; Bucky didn’t want a spasm to hurt his lover in a too tight grip. “So, bottom or top, Steve?” he asked in a practical manner, though his voice sounded as breathless and flushed as he looked.

“Whatever you want, Baby. Wantcha need to be comfortable.” Steve murmured as he placed kisses on Bucky’s chest, his tongue lapping at his lover’s nipple.

Groaning, Bucky shudder in delight. “Yeah, uh . . .” he blinked blown eyes and grinned. “So, how about you fill me, but I sit on you?” he asked, the attention to his nipples driving him nuts. Some guys felt nothing there, but Bucky had always been sensitive. Shit, if he’d been a woman, he probably couldn’t have breast fed without orgasming, or so he’d thought once in awhile.

Gently nipping at the sensitive bud, Steve nodded. 

A low moan escaped Bucky’s throat and he wriggled his hips, his erection bobbing and sliding next to Steve’s momentarily. “God, Baby, that’s good . . .” he drew a ragged breath. “Do . . . we, uh . . . have any lube?” He shifted again.

Cursing under his breath, Steve propping himself up on his forearms. 

A loud knock on the door, followed by Tony’s call of “Hey, Bucky-Bear, how you doin’, Love?” interrupted them quite effectively. Bucky groaned and let his head fall back, hips stilling, as Tony called again, “Can I come in? It’s dinner time and you missed lunch.” He knocked again. “I don’t like how you skip meals.”

“Can I kill him?” Steve groaned quietly, resting his forehead against Bucky’s. 

“Shit” Bucky groaned again. Raising his voice, he called out “I ate pizza at lunch with Wade, Tony!” Bucky looked down at his blond lover and groaned, “perfect damn timing.”

“C’mon, Buck-boy, don’t be that way. I’ve got food out here and wanna share with you . . . and him,” he added as if in afterthought. “I mean food . . . share food,” Tony added hurriedly.

“Please . . . let me kill ‘im.” Steve muttered.

“But then you’ll have to hire my lawyers from me,” Bucky muttered. “And I’d have to go into that jail house where all those guys’ll be staring at your ass. And I’ll have to get jealous and bust heads,” he joked softly, knowing he’d never be able to make it past the precinct door, let alone into the jail. “So, if we go fuel up . . . I mean eat, then we can find lube, too?” he suggested.

Letting out a deep, disappointed, sigh, Steve nodded and stated, “Yeah, yeah.”

“Or I could ignore him, have Jarvis stun him to submission, and give you a blow job?” Bucky offered, but Tony knocked loudly again and Bucky’s erection responded by wilting. “Damn,” he whimpered.

His own erection going away, Steve groaned loudly, “Mood is so dead.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed and pulled off of Steve, and turned, looking for his pants in the tight confines of their pillow-fort. “So, uh . . . pants? Don’t wanna show the goods to Tony . . . haven’t yet. Wanna keep him guessing,” Bucky absently said.

Handing his lover his pants, that seemed to have found their way under Steve, the blond tugged on his own boxers, followed by his trousers. 

“‘Mon, Bucky bear!” Tony’s voice raised louder, but not into a full shout. “I’ll have Jarvis get emergency medicine if you don’t open the door!”

Bucky growled low, and took the pants. He crawled out of the fort and stood, heading for the door without thinking further, pants still clutched in his left hand. “Tony, if you don’t stop bugging me I promise to freak out and try to attack you . . . in front of Sharon!”

An audible gulp came and Tony said, softly, “you wouldn’t! We’re just getting together. You stole her last boyfriend . . . can’t I keep her?”

Stretching his arms above his head as he stood up, Steve glared at the door. Wishing that a giant ape would attack the man on the other side of the door.

Rolling his eyes, not in the least ashamed for stealing back Steve since Sharon had given her them her blessing, Bucky tugged on his pants and fastened them carefully, avoiding catching himself in his zipper. “Only if you leave me alone once in while. My room’s off limits . . . and that means your pestering!”

Tony let out a huff and called “Fine! But don’t come whining to me if you starve to death on coffee and two eggs a day, Bucky! Really, how can anyone live on such small portions?” The sound of Tony walking away came to them through the door.

Bucky sighed and leaned his head against the door.

“Are you really not eating, Buck?” Steve asked as he pulled on his shirt, the latest revelation coming as a shock. Sure, Bucky had lost some weight, but Steve didn’t like the idea of his lover not eating enough.

“I had a piece of pizza at lunch,” Bucky clarified, “and a soda pop.”

“You used to eat a half a pizza by yourself,” Steve stated, his eyebrow cocking slightly. 

With a sigh, Bucky turned his head to look at Steve, his position emphasizing his thin frame. “I’m never hungry any more,” he said. “I’m always nauseous . . .”

“Have you told your doctor? Maybe there’s something wrong with your medication or something?” Steve offered stepping closer to his boyfriend.

“My medication is exactly what’s wrong, Steve,” he ground out, frustration welling. “Those damn drugs have side-effects, especially mixed together. I’m on like seven or eight different drugs and they fight each other.” He slammed his right hand against the door, flat so it didn’t make as much noise as it would have fisted. “I’ve got a fucking war going on in my body and the doctor says to just deal with it. He hates switching my meds around. Or making them lower than they already are. Says I’m rushing things.”

“You need a new doctor then, Bucky. If the guy isn’t listening to your concerns than you need to find someone who will. You shouldn’t always be nauseous.” 

Flipping around so his bare back lay against the wooden door, Bucky sighed heavily, looking up towards the softly lit ceiling.”He says that doctor mining is illegal . . . jumping from doctor to doctor. Says if I feel that bad, I should just check back into the hospital.” He shook his head, sounding very tired.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Steve ground out, “Doesn’t sound like a good guy, Bucky.”

“Name’s Connors . . .” Bucky sighed. “Curtis Connors,” the reporter answered the question literally. “And he comes highly recommended. He says if I’d just listen to his regime, he’d have me fit again in six months. Even suggested some kind of shots he’s been working on to regenerate the tissue in my right hand, make it work better. Got the idea from some reptile research he’s working on, I think.” Bucky looked at Steve again.

“Sounds like loon. Look, have you heard of Stephen Strange?” Steve asked. 

“The surgeon?” Bucky asked curiously. “Didn’t he have some kind of accident and hurt his hands so he had to retire or something?”

“Yeah, real nasty crash, but he decided to get a degree in psychiatry when he couldn’t perform surgeries anymore. I worked with him a lot when I got back from Afghanistan.” 

“Got a psychotherapist, Steve. Riley’s done good by me,” the brunet said.

Steve shook his head, “I’m not saying replace Riley. But Dr. Strange . . . he could at least give you a second opinion on these drugs that this Connors guy has you on.” 

Straightening slowly, intently staring at Steve, Bucky whispered, “would he know a good physical therapist? I had one while I was in Florida, but haven’t really found one here. I wanna go back to therapy for my hand, too . . .” he studied Steve’s eyes, some hope shining forth at the idea of the former surgeon giving him access to a therapist for his hand. And maybe Bucky could ask about these meds, too.

Shrugging, Steve answered, “I’m sure he does. I can give you his number and you could set up an appointment.”

With a smile, Bucky nodded eagerly. “Sure, if you think he’ll help me.”

“He’s a good guy . . . I’m sure he’ll do whatever he can to help you out.”

Suddenly, Bucky laughed, low and sweet. He threw himself at Steve, hugging him tightly. “God, if he can get my drugs fixed, I’ll settle for that, Steve! I hate how messed up I always am, and how I have to take three drugs to counter another two and a different one on top of that.” He buried his face in Steve’s neck. “Why I never asked you for help, I don’t know! I’m too stupidly independant,” he sighed.

Placing kisses into his lover’s hair, Steve chuckled, “Because you’re so damn stubborn. But we’ll figure this out.”

Bucky laughed at that. “Yeah, I am.” He lifted his face. “Let’s go get dinner. I think I can force down something right now. I’m almost hungry.”

************

That evening Steve walked into the busy precinct. Phones rang loudly and a man shouted from the lock-up cell. The detective quickly made his way to Fury’s office. Once inside Steve shut the door behind him and looked at his captain.

Fury sat languidly in his desk chair, leaning back, feet on his desk. He had his hands pressed together and seemed almost bored despite the commotion out on the floor. The officer glanced over to Steve and asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be making potholders or something?”

“You’ve been lyin’ to me, Captain.” Steve stated, his tone composed.

“Lying?” Fury turned swinging his feet to the floor. He narrowed his eye.

“You told Bucky to come to me as a source, didn’t you? He was your informant. He followed your orders.” The blond said, stepping closer to the darker man.

Nick tilted his head and shrugged nonchalantly. “Yes, he needed a place to get his stories. So I exchanged info for info, since his was vital.” Fury looked at Steve directly. “That’s how informants work, something for something, Detective.

“But why me?” Steve asked, his eyes narrowing. 

“Don’t be naive!” Fury rose to his feet and shook his head. “He thought you were hot, and you practically couldn’t keep it in your pants around him. Why would you mind getting to chat him up?” Nick shrugged again. “Did you a favor, didn’t I? Gave you an in with him.”

“And look at where that _in_ got him,” Steve growled. “It put a target on his back.”

Nick whirled towards his underling and jabbed a finger forcefully into his chest. “I was fine with your talking, trading secrets, even playing sleepover. I never said pin a murder on him! And I certainly didn’t think your old lover would come snooping around getting jealous and trying to wipe your toys off the map!” Nick glared at the blond.

“Rumlow was watching me long before Barnes’ and I’s falling out.” Steve sneered. “Do you ever think about your actions, Captain?”

Shaking his bald head, the older cop snarled, “don’t you try to pin Rumlow’s hits on me, Rogers! Just like you, I had not clue your old Army lay was after you.” He crossed his arms. “You wanna play that game? Then you shoulda kept it in your pants back overseas. But . . .” Nck leaned towards Steve, crowding the large man, “we aren’t going there, are we? Because there’s more to this than you thinking I deliberately set up my informant to be practically killed.”

Narrowing his eyes further, Steve opened his mouth to retort but then his eyes caught on a bright red dot on the back of Fury’s head from the window behind them. Eyes widening, Steve shouted, “Nick! Watch out!” 

The blond detective tackled his captain just as the shot rang out. The glass from the window shattered, raining small fragments onto two men. 

As Fury’s back hit the ground, one arm flailing painfully against the desk, the Captain’s eye widened and he wooshed all his air out. Gasping, he flipped onto his front and pulled his own revolver, aiming at the lightbulb and shooting it out, making their bodies almost undetectable without heat vision. Shuffling towards the door, Nick harshly whispered, “fuck! C’mon, Rogers, get out of here!”

Following Fury’s orders, Steve, crawling on his belly, made his way out of the office. His heart rattled against his ribcage and Steve could feel the small glass fragments cutting against his soft flesh. 

“Fucking _do not_ wanna lose my _other_ goddamned eye!” Fury growled and cursed as he made his way into the well lit bullpen and around the wall to some semblance of safety. He pressed against the wall as two other officers present also found cover, waiting to see if a second shot would come through the Captain’s window.

As Steve made his way to relative safety, his foot brushed against the Captain’s open door and it began to swing closed, towards the room. As it slammed, providing a bit more cover at least, a large burned cross-hairs marked the outside, glaringly obvious to anyone in the bullpen. As obvious came the knowledge that the mark had to be on the door before it had been opened - - meaning that either someone on the force did it and hid it, or someone took the opportunity to sneak in after Fury unlocked his office that morning, while no one was looking, and did the damage: a very familiar looking burn damage.

Once he made it to sit by his captain, Steve eyed the familiar mark warily. Who’d be bold enough to try to take out a police captain? In his own office of all places?

“Who the hell wrecked my new paint job?” Nick growled.

“I think the question you should be asking, Captain, is why?” Steve mumbled, not tearing his eyes away from the mark. 

Nick rolled his dark brown eye and turned his glare on his detective. “No, the question is how!”

“Maybe _when_?” Frank Castle called out angrily from behind his desk, his deep voice reverberating across the room.

This attempt on Fury’s life proved to Steve that Crossbones was back. Rumlow was back and   
active; with whoever this new partner was, they made a deadly team.

Pushing up to his feet, Nick made his way to Castle’s phone and grabbed it, dialing quickly. “Damn fuckers ain’t gettin’ away with shootin’ my place up!” he muttered then waited for his party to connect. After only seconds he growled out, “yeah, there’s been a shooting right here and I was the target. I need SWAT on this. And, yes,” he turned to glare at the mark on his door, “I think it’s the same guy who took down McCoy.”

Only one thought circulated in Steve’s mind. _Who is Crossbones going to try and take out next?_


	10. The Next Target

Chapter Ten

Sitting in the communal room on the extremely soft couch, enjoying the decadent feeling of being pampered, Bucky carefully selected a pale green crayon from the extremely large box on the coffee table before him. Carefully holding the paper-wrapped waxy crayon in his right hand, the brunet slowly brought the tip to the paper of a Mandala coloring book before him. Taking a steadying breath, Bucky began to carefully trace the pattern, filling in the white pattern with the light jade color, avoiding crossing the surrounding black borders. Smiling softly, Bucky felt pride swell as he maintained the delicate control over his normally trembling, clenching hand.

In the computer room nearby several of the reporter’s friends worked to solve the brutal crimes associated with his own injuries, but Bucky deliberately pushed such knowledge to the back of his mind. His recent talk with Steve, their decision to have the journalist contact a new doctor and get his debilitating medications re-evaluated, had made a shot of hope run through him. He’d also determined to find a physical therapist, information that could be provided by the same doctor they’d chosen to consult.

The sound of the computer room door barely registered as Bucky carefully switched to a light rose colored crayon. As he filled in a part of the pattern that reminded him of flower petals, the brunet barely registered Tony striding from the other room and running a drink at the bar. Finally, the shorter, darker man sank down on a chair facing the journalist, placed a tall glass of water on a doily, and slid the offering over the glass-topped coffee table towards Bucky.

Finally, Bucky glanced up, his crayon poised above the printed paper. “Thanks?” Bucky questioned Tony’s offering.

The rich genius grinned at his roommate and shrugged, sipping from his own drink, obviously not water. “Just wanted to get away from the noise, Buck. Hey,” he leaned forward, glass clasped lightly between both hands, elbows on his knees, “think you’ll skip the party this year?”

“Party?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What party?”

Rolling his brown eyes expressively, the inventor sipped his drink again. “You know, the shindig I throw for the cops every year? It’s not far off now and, well, you’ve gone every year but last. So, with you in the tower now, I wondered if you think you’d make it . . . or you gonna hole up here and watch chick flicks and eat popcorn all night?”

On a sigh, Bucky placed the crayon back in the box and shook his head. “Don’t know, yet, Tony. Maybe I’d better stay away from the crowd, you know?”

As if reminded suddenly, Tony nodded, “right! Yeah. Guess that makes sense. Even though the venue’s gonna be filled with cops and law enforcement and stuff, you wanna stay away.”

“It’s not like that, Tony. I can’t just shut off my panic attacks just because the crowd of strangers are law enforcement. I . . .”

“Stark?” Clint’s voice came from the doorway of the computer room. “Think you’re missed in there.”

“Well, can’t have that, can I?” Tony stood up and grinned, sipping his drink and heading into the temporary crime research headquarters. Once inside, the man shut the door, shutting Clint out.

Clint Barton, the stocky ex-cop who had also suffered at the hands of the alleged serial killer, didn’t seem to care if he was in the loop or not at that moment. Instead, he seemed to thankfully manipulate something at his left ear then his right and sighed. The man walked over to the bar and began to read the different taps.

Knowing his friend must have shut off his hearing aids, Bucky merely turned back to his coloring. They each dealt with their trauma in a different way. He studied the crayons, looking for a vivid blue. When he settled on the one he wanted, the brunet smiled at how much it resembled the vibrant color of his boyfriend’s eyes. The reporter carefully turned his right wrist to check his watch and sighed softly, eager for Steve’s return from whatever errand he had gone on that morning. Bucky placed the crayon tip carefully to the page and began to fill in several spiral swirls across the bottom of the page, much like the waves of a tropical sea.

The sound of a familiar ringtone brought a smile to Bucky’s face and he immediately used his left hand to pull the device out. Flicking over the screen, the brunet brought his phone to his ear and breathed, “Steve? Heya!” His voice came out happy, relaxed.

“Bucky, everything okay at the Tower?” Steve’s voice sounded urgent and tense.

Immediately, a frown fell over the reporter’s features and he warily said, “Except for Tony whining about the Gala in two weeks, yeah. Why? What happened?” He knew by his lover’s tone that something had gone wrong on his mysterious errand.

“Yeah, yeah . . . I’m _fine_ ,” Steve grumbled to someone on his end.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice and tension rose as he heard the background noises, the sounds of confusion and a deep voice arguing indecipherably. “Steve?”

“Shit . . . sorry, Buck.” Steve let out a long sigh, “There’s been another attack. They went after Fury. He’s okay . . . pissed that someone would have the gall to try and assassinate him but still breathing.”

“Fuck, Fury. How are you? Are you okay?” Bucky sat forward, unaware that he broke the delicate crayon when his right hand clenched in a sudden spasm of fear.

“I’m . . . okay? A few cuts from the glass but nothin’ serious. They marked up the door . . .” The detective’s voice trailed off, as if he’d been distracted by something.

“Door? Glass? You’re not making sense, Stevie. Where are you?” Bucky slid to the edge of his seat, Clint frowning as he apparently noticed the brunet’s distress. The ex-cop flicked on his hearing aids, and Bucky insisted, “Steve, what do you mean marked a door?”

“At the precinct. Had to talk to Fury about something. Bastard tried to take out Fury through the window. But I saw the red marker and was able to get him out of the way in time. The . . . the front of Fury’s office door was marked with an X, Bucky.” Steve explained, his voice cautious, he didn’t want to trigger another episode but he knew his lover deserved the truth. 

“And how the hell did someone mark a door inside the precinct in broad daylight?” Bucky stood and began pacing, his right hand shaking and clenching. Clint got up and ran into the computer room.

“ _We don’t know._ That’s what scares the crap out of me. Have Tony put the Tower on complete lockdown. I need to know you’re safe - -”

“Steve!” Bucky cut in, “I need to know you are safe! Get the hell out of there and go down the street to the end. Turn into that abandoned looking warehouse. I’ll call Wade and have him meet you!” He took a shaky breath, tone hitching higher in a sound close to panic, “And bring Fury if you must but get there now!”

Sensing the rising anxiety in his boyfriend’s tone, Steve took a deep breath before continuing, “I’m okay, Bucky.”

“Steve,” the brunet literally growled at his boyfriend. “The sniper missed. He’s not going to give up. We’re trained to lie for days in our own piss, barely drinking anything, if needed to get the shot. You need to get out of there!”

Riley ran into the room close behind Clint, his eyes wide with surprise. He’d left his patient content and coloring. What the hell happened?

Seeing Riley, Bucky wailed, “make him listen, Riley!” His eyes looked almost black in his terror and his arm was beyond shaking, curled helplessly against his abdomen.

“Sshh . . .” Steve cooed, “Bucky, I’m already heading out the door. Send Wade to pick me up.” 

“Not the front, Steve!” Bucky screamed, panic setting in completely and he keened.

“I’m not!” Steve exclaimed quickly.

Clint grabbed Bucky’s phone, literally shoving the brunet against his doctor. “Steve?” the deaf-man’s voice sounded partially flat as he could no longer judge his own intonation. “Where do you want Wade to meet you? I’ll call him.” Bucky collapsed at Riley’s feet in a shaking heap.

Repeating the directions Bucky had just given him, Steve added in a worried tone, “Tell Bucky that I’ll be there soon. That I’m okay.”

“I’ll tell him, Steve, but he’s with Riley right now. The warehouse near the precinct, got it. That’s a shooting range. Bye,” and Clint hung up so he could find Wade’s number in the phone and call the mercenary with Bucky’s instructions to go meet Steve at Fred’s place.

Riley immediately began to rub the comforting circles on the small of Bucky’s back. “He’s okay, Bucky. Wade’ll go get him and he’ll be back at the Tower before ya know it.”

Bucky shook his head, babbling almost indistinguishably, rocking and unresponsive to Riley’s normal tactics. Keeping a careful eye on the pair of men, Clint called out “Nat! Need a shot here!” He then pressed the connect button for the only number marked ‘Private W’ in the phone.

“My favorite amputee!” Wade’s voice rang out slightly out of breath.

“Bucky’s down. Explain later. Get Steve at Fred’s!” Clint snapped out, clipped and to the point, falling into military style orders.

“What do you mean? Clint? What the fuck?” Wade snapped. 

“I don’t know more, Wilson, my aids were off! Bucky’s beyond reason, and Steve’s at Fred’s.” The ex-cop answered, tone frustrated but obviously not with Wade . . . more like he was frustrated with his own disability.

“Alright. I’ll go pick up Captain America,” Wade answered, “But by the time I get there I want answers.”

The phone changed hands suddenly again and Sam’s voice rang over the line, “something about a sniper at the precinct, Wade, so keep ‘em peeled.” The ex-paratrooper glanced over at Riley trying to tend Bucky and Clint trying to convince Nat that the reporter needed a shot of tranqs.

“Fuck!” Wade muttered, “Of course we have to be dealin’ with a fuckin’ sniper! Mother fucker!” And then the mercenary hung up, cutting his curses off. 

When the tone went dead, Sam flicked the phone off and pocketed it, intending to give it back to Bucky when the brunet was in his right mind. “Riley, honey, anything we can do?” He eyed the very upset Clint but let Nat deal with her husband at the moment, not blaming the man for his severe reaction; Clint was the other one of only two survivors from the alleged sniper.

Riley looked at his boyfriend with helpless wide eyes. He’d never seen his patient this far gone; he didn’t want to drug Bucky against his will, but Riley was quickly running out of options. 

Running a hand through his curls, Sam made a dangerous decision, but one he hoped would work since he’d seen Bucky’s increase of confidence recently. He called out, “Nat, I need your service weapon.”

Clint froze and turned wide eyes on the detective. “I did not hear that right,” he murmured in apparent disbelief.

Quirking a shocked eyebrow, Nat looked at Bucky before flicking her attention to the detective. 

“Unload it if you want but give me your gun,” Sam requested again, striding up to his boyfriend and the stricken patient.

Clenching her jaw, Natasha ran a hand through her hair before nodding. Quickly, she unloaded the weapon before handing it over.

As if thinking better of his plan, Sam suddenly stepped back. “You give it to him, Nat, or you, Riley. Bucky trusts me least of any of us.” Running a hand through his curls again, Sam added, “tell him he’s safe, right Riley? And tell him the gun’s for defense.”

The FBI agent looked at her friend, her emotions displayed only through her green eyes, before slowly walking over to the journalist. “Buck? Bucky, you’re safe, hon. Why don’t you hold on to my gun . . . to help keep us safe.” Her voice didn’t waver but her eyes burned with tears. She quickly blinked them away, not wanting to scare her friend anymore than he already was.

Sam nodded encouragingly and practically whispered, “touch his arm or skin somewhere with the gun, let him smell the oil. He needs more than voice right now.” Sam suddenly seemed sure of himself, which had never appeared to be a problem for him before; he was recalling how Riley had helped him on the front lines after Rhodes had been shot down. “Tell him to get it together, solider, he’s needed.” Sam kept his voice so low, he was fairly certain Bucky wouldn’t discern his advice before Nat echoed it.

Slowly, the redhead extended her arm and pressed the cool metal of the revolver to Bucky’s shaking right hand. “Soldier . . . I need you to get it together. You’re needed.” 

Pausing, keening stopping, Bucky slowly lifted stricken eyes and looked at Nat. He glanced at the gun and reached out his left hand, taking the revolver, and nodded. “Yes, Ma’am,” he rasped and checked the weapon in age old habit. He looked up. “Out of bullets?”

Sam prompted softly, “ran out, need to fool the enemy . . .” The dark skinned man squatted down by the couch, as if behind a barrier. He signalled silently to Riley to get ready to break through this calmer fugue state Sam had managed to elicit with Nat’s help.

Riley nodded but let his hand drop from the brunet’s back. The therapist wanted to see how this played out, if this illusion would help the journalist calm down enough so that he’d gain control over his own body again. The blond hoped this would work better than drugging; Bucky always woke up disorientated and confused after they’d been forced to tranquilize.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Nat nodded at her friend, inside her heart shattered at the sight of one of her closest friends so far gone, but her tone remained impassive and cold. “Ammo may be out, but the enemy doesn’t know that . . . do they, Sergeant?”

Bucky nodded. “Get the others out. I’ll take care of this,” Bucky said firmly and moved almost gracefully, keeping low, towards the window.

Sam swore. “Damn, Riley, help. I think I might have triggered a flashback!”

Riley clenched his jaw tightly, and he knew they’d have to sedate the ex-sniper. 

From the computer room doorway Tony called out, “want me to help?” He had apparently been watching since Clint had run in and gotten the majority of the occupants to follow him into the common room. “I got something I been wanting to try on him . . .”

The therapist didn’t really want to see his patient as a test subject, “I won’t have you pumping his system with unregulated drugs, Tony. Could be dangerous with the medicine he’s already taking.”

Brown eyes widening in surprise, Tony shook his head. “No drugs at all,” he assured the blond therapist.

Flicking his eyes towards Bucky, who squatted just below the windowsill, peering out carefully from behind the curtain, and then back to Tony, Riley nodded once. “Just be careful.” 

“Ahh, Bucky bear never scares me,” he grinned, reassuring them smoothly. “I just figured if Sam could change his mental consciousness into a flashback with the gun and military talk, I can do the same thing. This didn’t work because we’ve never dealt with him in military mode, right?” Tony stepped over and almost purred, “but we know we can break him out of his sex fugue, right? So, I get him to switch to horny and viola, we fix this.”

Sam shook his head, “no way, Tony! It could backfire as bad as my attempt.”

Riley did see the merit behind the inventor’s idea but he also agreed with Sam. Triggering the journalist’s sex fugue could bring back unwanted memories of Bucky’s time with Rumlow; which would cause the brunet to retreat even further. An idea suddenly came to the ex-paratrooper, “Hey, Buck. Want to try and call Steve again? See if he’s okay?” 

Bucky looked over and blinked in confusion. “Steve?” He frowned and shook his head, eyes puzzled and almost scared. Looking to the gun in his hands, he looked back up and whispered “Steve . . .”

Motioning for Sam to give him Bucky’s phone, Riley nodded. “Yeah, Steve. We gotta make sure he’s alright. Make sure he got to Fred’s alright.”

With a nod, the detective pulled out the phone and dialed his partner’s very familiar number.

“Put it on speaker, Sam,” Riley ordered, not taking his eyes off Bucky.

Nodding, Sam held up one hand, wanting to make sure the other man answered before letting Bucky hear anything from the phone.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice answered after the third ring. 

“Sam,” he corrected but added, “give me a moment.” Lifting the phone, Sam flicked the device to speaker and said, “Steve? Bucky needs to hear you.” The dark-haired detective stepped closer and held the phone out to the confused, frightened patient.

“Bucky? Baby? How are you doing?” Steve asked after a sigh, his tone sounded concerned but he tried to keep it under control.

“Steve?” confusion ran high in Bucky’s voice. But what about? He looked back at Nat’s gun in his hands and blinked at the others, clarity slowly coming to the lithe man. “Steve!” he called out, holding the gun securely in his left hand. “You get to Fred’s?” His worry turned to concern for his lover once again, but he sounded calmer than before.

“Yeah, Baby.” Steve answered. 

“You serious, Rogers?” Nick’s voice boomed over speaker phone. “We’re going to be meeting up with a mercenary who’s one step in front of the law?”

“Fury! Not the time,” Steve snapped his tone turning harsh. 

“You already made me promise not to arrest the bastard, but you’re seriously making me go with him?”

“Awe . . . what’s wrong Cyclops? Don’t like me?” Wade’s sung out. “Well than, feel free to stay here. My car is only for people to like me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at Nick’s complaints, finally settling back into a semblance of wary normalcy, at least for the traumatized vet.

The soft voice of Peter Parker, the young replacement reporter, sounded next. “Wow! Never been in here,” he said.

Nick growled low, “Yeah, I can tolerate you, Wilson. In fact, I been wanting to talk to you.”

“Whoa!” Peter called out, sounding surprised, “put that gun down! We’re friends here!”

“Ah c’mon!” Wade whined, “This is one of my favorite shirts . . . I don’t wanna get blood on it.”

An impatient tone ran through Nick’s voice as he growled, “I’m not shooting him. I’m giving it to Rogers, kid!” A set of heavy steps came over the phone before Nick says, “I think I got hit by glass . . .”

**********

Steve’s eyes caught on a trail of blood that oozed from a cut on Fury’s neck from a piece of embedded glass. “Shit!” The blond detective cursed.

The police captain held out the butt of his service revolver towards Steve, leaning against the wall just inside the door of the shooting range warehouse. Pain laced his brown eye and his eye-patch was askew a bit from their hurried flight from the precinct several blocks away.

Jumping forward, the slim brown-haired youth tore his backpack off and flung it open, searching inside. “We need to stabilize that glass so it doesn't come out or dig in further or even move. I’ve got tape in here somewhere,” he produced a roll of black electrical tape and some sewing scissors.

Taking the gun, Steve let Peter get to work on stabilizing the glass, “Stark? Please tell me you have a medical crew or something on standby,” the detective asked, turning his attention back to the phone.

Peter shook his head and gestured one handed to Wade, then bit at the tape to tear a long strip, the scissors too small to work effectively. “No, but he probably can call for one with his phone.” Quickly, with clever, delicate looking hands, Peter began to wind the tape carefully around Nick’s neck and the glass in an odd, criss-crossing pattern which did not even threaten to choke the man, but seemed a secure weave.

Bucky’s voice sounded tinny over the open mic connection. “Steve? Is Fred in the office?” The reporter sounded scared, but nothing like the last time Steve had spoken to him.

“Fred?” Steve asked, “Oh! _Fred_ , right! Um . . . let me go check.” The detective knocked on the office door and the older man answered it quickly.

“How can I help you?” The grey-haired man asked.

From down the hall came the annoyed growl of Nick. “You trapping me in some kind of web, kid? They gotta rip this shit back offa me in the emergency room, you know!”

“Yeah, but if the glass moves, you could bleed out before you get there!” Peter insisted.

“Fred, right?” Steve asked, ignoring the commotion coming from down the hall. 

“That’s my name . . .” Fred’s eyes narrowed as he took in the unknown disheveled, dirty, glass-covered man in front of him, carrying a revolver around off the ranges.

“Yo!” Wade shouted as he ran down the hall, “Fred! This is Steve Rogers . . . Steve this is Fred! Uh . . . we kinda got a man bleeding all over your floor . . . sorry.”

“Is an ambulance coming?” Peter called down the hallway.

“Ambulance? Blood? Wade what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?” the old warhorse growled as he stomped out of the office and down the hall to investigate. “Captain Fury?” 

Now sitting on the floor, the police captain, in his torn, bloody, and glass-covered uniform, glanced up with his one eye, not moving his heavily electrical-taped neck. “Hey. Fred is it? Nice place you got here. My place was hit by a sniper, so, hope you don’t mind sharing.” Nick repositioned his hips on the concrete floor and winced.

“Someone please tell me an ambulance is on its way,” Steve groaned when he saw the increasingly large stream of blood that ran down the side of his captain’s neck.

Bucky sighed over the phone line. “Steve, I don’t think so. I can’t seem to recall the address of Fred’s right now. Can’t Wade call?”

“Got this!” Peter called suddenly, and pulled out his own phone, flicking bloodied fingers over the screen and dialling 9-1-1. “Hello? Yes, we have a trauma victim at . . .” he wandered out of the building to check the address.

Nick rolled his eyes, moving his hand to his own neck and sighing. “The guy isn’t a nurse . . . he’s a fucking electrician!”

Steve winced at the sheer amount of tape on Fury’s neck; it was going to hurt getting all that off. The kid might have gone a bit over the top with the stabilizing. 

“Don’t be like that, Cyclops,” Wade whined, “He’s just tryin’ to help.”

Peter ran back down the hall, confirming over his phone, “yeah, two victims, but I only see blood on one of ‘em. They came from the precinct, so there’s maybe more over there. Yes, ma’am, I can wait outside for the ambulance.” The youth turned right back around and rushed out once more.

“Bucky . . . I gotta go now. I’ll see - -” Steve started, knowing he couldn’t do much of anything while being on the phone.

“No,” Bucky suddenly whined. “Don’t leave me . . .”

Sam’s voice came over the phone, but obviously not aimed at Steve. “Bucky, he needs to help save Captain Fury. You wouldn’t want Steve to let the man bleed out, would you? He needs his hands.”

“Oh . . . okay,” Bucky practically whispered. “Call me when you can? Riley?” the plea in Bucky’s voice mirrored every other time he’d asked for help in recent memory . . . meaning he was aware of himself but in desperate need of emotional care. “Do you want the gun back?” came Bucky’s last words before the phone cut off, possibly accidentally . . . or even having lost its charge.

“Gun?” Nick asked from the floor. “They gave a psych case a gun?”

“Fury,” Steve seethed as he knelt down to get a closer look at the wound. “Refer to my boyfriend as a psych case again, and I’ll let the kid tape you to a wall or somethin’.”

“Your _boyfriend_?” Nick ground out. “You were supposed to be his bodyguard, not slinking back into his bed, Rogers!”

“Captain . . . all due respect,” Steve mumbled, mentally cursing himself for letting that slip, “You can’t dictate who I choose to be with. I am still doing my job; I am still protecting him.” 

Nick sent a glare up at Steve, a difficult feat without moving his neck. “No, and I sure as hell don’t wanna get involved in your love life. But that guy’s an informant for my precinct and one of only two survivors of a serial killer. He’s probably not in the best state of mind to be sleeping with his damn bodyguard, who’s trying to find the damn bastard who is apparently using a sniper to help hunt important city figures down!” Suddenly he pointed at Wade and Fred, “and if that gets out, I’ll hunt you both down and slap you with jail time!”

Wade and Fred looked at one another, both men surprised at suddenly having the attention on them. The cold glare of the police captain made a shiver run down their spines. “Yes, Sir,” both men answered in unison.

The sound of sirens finally came to their ears and Fury groaned softly. “I hate being sick!” he grumped. “And I hate doctors and hospitals even more!”

“Sick?” Steve asked incredulously, “You have a shard of glass sticking out of your neck. I think this is more serious than being sick.”

“Ha,” Fury growled, “ever have double pneumonia, Rogers? That shit’s deadly and it hurts like hell. This is child’s play compared to your lungs filling with water and trying to drown you on dry land!”

Peter led a pair of EMT’s in, who made surprised, distress noises about the inordinate amount of tape on the patient’s neck. The EMT’s managed to get Nick on their stretcher and start tending to him as they brought him from the warehouse. A third EMT turned and looked over the other three men then stepped over to Steve, frowning. “You the other victim?” he asked, pulling on a pair of exam gloves.

“I’m fine!” Steve exhaled, suddenly feeling very tired and not wanting to do anything other than go back to the tower and see Bucky.

“Let me judge that, Sir. Any pain anywhere, even minor pain?” He pulled out a penlight and began to shine it up into Steve’s eyes, the other hand holding open first one lid then the other.

“I just got some small cuts from the glass. Please . . . I’m okay.” Steve grumbled, “I don’t even think I’ll need a band-aid.”

Nodding, the EMT continued, dropping his hand and taking Steve’s wrist to check his pulse, “how close to the blast were you, Sir? Did you maybe get hit in the head? Maybe you don’t feel it yet?”

“Sir, please. I didn’t hit my head. There wasn’t even a blast! It was a sniper shot!” the detective groaned.

The EMT dropped his hands, brows furrowing. “Oh . . . we’ve got people at the precinct but no one can answer what happened. Looks like a bomb went off over there. So, the other man was shot? You were just in the debris field?” Carefully, the EMT began checking over Steve’s small cuts.

Steve nodded, “He wasn’t shot. The bullet didn’t hit him.”

The emergency worker seemed to twitch at that comment, but lowered his head, his uniform ballcap hiding his face. “So, no one got hurt?” he asked in a tight voice, finally stepping back. He fiddled with his penlight.

Steve took in the nervous behavior of the man standing in front of him. Something was missing . . . something didn’t add up.

With a sudden nod, the man slid his penlight back into his pocket and turned. “Well, you can go to the hospital and fill in a workman’s comp form. I’ve gotta get back to the precinct to help.” And the man sprinted down the corridor and out the warehouse door.

“What the fuck was that?” Wade exclaimed. 

“That was . . . uh . . . yeah . . . odd, what?” Peter replied, shaking his head and looking towards Wade.

“Disguise,” Fred stated. “That man was in a disguise. Too fidgety to be an EMT, he didn’t write anything down or take your full vitals, hell, he didn’t even have you sign your medical release papers. That man was either your sniper or working with him.” 

“Damn,” Peter breathed, brown eyes widening even more.

“We need to get to the Tower . . .” Steve growled, eyes hardening.

“B . . . but,” Peter stammered, “he sa . . . said he’s g . . . going b . . . back to the . . . pre . . . pre . . . cinct!” he forced out. “He might be after the other cops!”

“I’ll call it in on the way over to Stark’s,” Steve stated, his tone stern. “I have a plan to flush these guys out.”

“He’s, uh . . . yeah . . . so . . . what’ll we . . . yeah?” Peter relayed in his nervously disjointed way.

“”C’mon Baby Boy.” Wade chimed, watching as Steve stormed out of the range. “We got us some rats to catch.”

“And Fred?” Peter looked up at Wade, licking his lips. “Guy saw him, too . . .”

“I’d like to see him try,” Fred bellowed. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, Kid.”

Finally, Peter nodded. “Oh . . . okay, Fred,” he whispered, worry shining in his expressive eyes. “So, Mr. Deadpool, are we going to the Tower, too, or going out somewhere else?” He swallowed but there was no denying the youth’s courage sor spunk.

“It’s Wade.” The mercenary smiled at the young man, “And yeah, we’re going to the Tower. The sniper saw you . . . I’m not letting you out of my sight until this is all over with.”

Peter paled, but merely nodded and repeated, “Wade. Like that name, actually,” as if not aware that he spoke out loud. The tip of his tongue darted out to moisten his lips again.

**********

Later that evening, after giving everyone time to calm down and recollect themselves, Steve gathered everyone in the common area, including their apparent newest member at Wade’s insistence: Peter Parker. The blond detective didn’t know how his friends would react to his plan. Once everyone sat either on one of the two couches or some of the chairs from the dining room, Steve cleared his throat, and gripped Bucky’s hand tightly in his own.

With a reassuring gentle squeeze, Bucky remained calm; he’d been so for the last half hour, since convincing himself that Steve truly had returned uninjured. Now, he sat by his lover and waited to hear what Steve had planned in this crime spree.

“Alright,” Steve started, his tone regaining some of it’s leadership qualities from his military days. “So far we’ve been playing their game. Letting them call the shots and make the first moves. It’s about time we turn the tables, try to beat them at their own game.”

Nodding, Sam crossed his arms, his eyes meeting Steve’s. “So, how do we get them to dance to our tune, Steve?”

“We need to flush ‘em out. Make an offer too enticing for them to refuse,” the blond detective began.

“Don’t see how we can do that unless we throw open the tower and give them all of us,” Bucky sighed, eyes narrowing. “I don’t like you being bait, Steve.”

“Well . . .” Steve shrugged, “You ain’t too far off.”

“Steve!” Bucky gasped. “No! You don’t go throwing yourself in their hands!” He tightened his grip on his lover’s hand.

“Let me finish, Buck,” Steve said gently, bringing his boyfriend’s hand to his lips and kissing the knuckles. As he set their clasped hands back down in his lap, Steve continued, “I suggest we use the Gala.”

“My Gala?” Tony asked, sitting forward, setting his tall glass on the coffee table.

“Yes,” Steve nodded, “With all the police force attending, myself included. They wouldn’t be able to resist making a play.”

Sam nodded and smiled grimly. “I see what you’re getting at, Steve.”

“I don’t,” grumbled Bucky. “”All I see is Steve handing himself to Rumlow!”

Sighing, Steve understood his lover’s concerns but he didn’t see any other way; the detective shook his head. “I’m not handing myself over to anyone, Buck. The Gala will be a trap. The area will be surrounded with SWAT, police, you name it. As soon as the bastards show their face, we’ll nail ‘em.”

Shaking his head, Bucky asked, eyes intense, “how are you going to get a SWAT team into the Gala?”

“Fury already ordered one on standby, didn’t he, Steve? After being targeted, he’d call out the hounds of hell if he could,” Sam offered his opinion, drawing a surprised glance from Bucky.

“Steve?” Bucky turned back to his lover. “Is that true?”

Nodding again, Steve answered, “Yeah, some of ‘em will be inside the Gala, most of them will be in the surrounding area. Undercover detectives will make up most of the force on the inside, not including Stark’s guards that are already planned to cover the event.” 

“I got lots,” Tony reported. “Happy’s just waiting for Wadey to solidify the list and positions.” He lifted his glass and sipped. He watched his guests intently, studying each one of the apparently steadily increasing number. Just days ago, he’d been alone with one house guest: Bucky. Now he had enough for a private party if he chose.

“Now I won’t ask any of you to attend. That will be your choice,” Steve started.

“I’m going,” Bucky growled, but, surprisingly, Sam, Riley, and Tony all protested.

Steve’s eyes snapped to meet Bucky’s. “No, Buck. No way.”

“If you’re putting yourself out there, I should, Steve!” Bucky insisted.

“Bucky you aren’t ready . . .” Riley looked at his patient with pleading eyes, he wanted the brunet to know that he wasn’t trying to make him feel bad, but that the therapist was simply stating a fact.

The brunet reporter sighed in frustration, but how could he argue with the charge? Just earlier he’d lost it so bad, Bucky could only recall hearing Steve greet him over the phone then the next thing he became aware of, he heard Steve and Fury arguing about an ambulance. He would have thought it had been the same phone call, but maybe fifteen minutes had gone by according to his phone’s time stamp; Bucky had lost time, again. Blowing out his breath in frustration, Bucky grumbled, “I can watch from a balcony or something . . .”

“And leave yourself singled out for the sniper?” Steve asked, “No . . . Bucky.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky turned to his lover. “So, I guess when I shot pictures of Crossbones from that roof, I didn’t prove I could hide on a height?”

“Bucky . . . “ Steve nearly whined, he couldn’t believe this was even being argued. 

“Enough. My party. My rules,” Tony exclaimed, throwing both hands up and managing not to spill his drink by some small miracle. “I say Bucky stays home and monitors the phones and headquarters in case we need another back up like today.”

Knowing he was being given busy work to keep him occupied, Bucky growled at his roommate, but Tony looked unimpressed.

“If he wants to go . . . why aren’t we letting him?” Sharon’s voice chimed in. “It’s his life . . . what do you guys know?”

Softly, Clint said, “you saw Buck earlier. Think he’d be able to protect himself if he panics again?”

Sharon bit her bottom lip in thought but she couldn’t come up with a valid point for Bucky’s case.

“Look, Sharon, Bucky,” Clint turned to his friend, “I’m not saying Bucky will panic or that anything will go wrong at the Gala. But, on the slim chance something happens, we need all our attention on protecting Steve, not helping Bucky through an attack. If it’s going to vote, in order to keep Steve as safe as I know Bucky wants him, I vote Bucky stays here and monitors communications and security screens.”

“I agree,” Riley stated, giving his patient an apologetic look.

With a long, deep sigh, Bucky looked to Steve. “And you promise to wear body armor under your dress uniform? Just in case?” He wanted to cry and scream, but he recognized that Clint had pulled any argument right out of his hands . . . damn the ex-cop.

Leaning over to press his lips to Bucky’s temple, Steve murmured, “Of course.” 

“And you’ll obey the security team? You won’t go rushing off on your own, even if you think you see the target?” Bucky leaned into Steve. “Promise?”

“I have all the reason to make it home,” Steve stated, “I’m not doing anything that could jeopardize coming home to you . . . okay?”

“Promise, Steve,” Bucky pressed, desperate. “I need to know you’re being safe . . . or I won’t be able to think.” Without realizing it, Bucky’s admission just proved he should be kept from the Gala while Steve tried to lure their targets.

“I promise, Baby,” The blond stated as he pressed another kiss to his lover’s temple. 

Sam nodded, softly adding, “so, we need to figure out which of us are going and which are staying behind? Bucky can't be the only back up. What if he’s in the bathroom or something?”

“I’ll stay with Sarge,” Wade offered. 

Peter raised his hand and flushed. “I’m supposed to cover it for the paper, since Smith was so impressed with my first article. I was thinking it was a fluff piece . . . but,” he shrugged.

Wade looked down at the young brunet; if Peter planned on going . . . Wade wanted to go as well. But he needed to keep Bucky safe. However, he wanted to make sure the lanky journalist stayed safe at the Gala.

Bucky seemed to see something in his old private’s eyes. He said, “I’d feel better with you at the Gala, Wade, even if it’s in hiding or something. I can keep Nat? She’s pregnant.” He could play as dirty as the others, but the brunet was surprised, and a bit disappointed, when Clint didn’t immediately jump to support Bucky’s excuse to keep Nat home.

Natasha narrowed her eyes at her friend, “You just want me to make those cookies you like so much.” 

Latching onto the light-hearted comment, Bucky shook his head, smiling a little. “No, I want you to teach me your secret cookie recipe.”

Breaking into a sly grin, the redhead laughed softly, “Alright, I’ll stay here with Bucky. I don’t quite feel like wearing heels all night, anyway.”

Clint nodded. “So, Steve, Sam, and Sharon are going. Obviously Tony’s going to be there. Peter and Wade’re on the list, too. Bucky and Nat stay here. Riley? You going with Sam or staying here?”

Riley looked between his patient and his boyfriend completely torn. He really should stay with Bucky and make sure the brunet remained calm, but he didn’t like the idea of sending Sam into a dangerous trap.

With a shrug, Sam looked at Riley. “I know you can handle yourself, but if you want to stay here, I won’t hold it against you.” Something in his voice made it apparent that he preferred the idea of Riley in safety.

Sighing, Riley nodded as he ran his hand through his blond hair. “I’ll stay here. Someone’s gotta make sure those two don’t burn down the tower.”

Jarvis suddenly intoned, “I will be more than happy to play fire monitor, Doctor.”

Steve turned his attention to Clint, “Clint? What about you?”

The deaf man nodded and shrugged easily. “Ex-Air Force Sniper, Steve. I’m going.” He hadn’t told anyone except Nat about his military past, leaving it behind, he’d thought forever. But since he hadn’t had a traumatic military experience, he supposed they couldn’t make any excuse to keep him out of this sting.

“Great,” Bucky griped. “Wade and Clint get to use their training, but I’m left playing house.” He crossed his arms, grey-blue eyes narrowed in renewed frustration at his own limitations. “I’ll have you know, I’m calling Doctor Strange about my meds tomorrow, Steve . . . and if I get balanced out in the next two weeks, I want a recount!”

Steve wanted to smile at his boyfriend; he loved seeing the little bits of the old Bucky from before the attack. However, he also knew that if the brunet saw him smiling, it would only make him more frustrated. “Good.” Steve nodded firmly, “If you get balanced then I’ll have you watching my six. God forbid anyone cross you.”

“Hah,” Bucky snorted at that. “Forget your six, Sam’s got that. It’s your left I’m worried about. You always leave it open.” He turned his head to look towards the darkened windows. “It’s how you got kicked in the head, I hear . . .”

“What?” Steve’s mouth dropped open. “How . . . who? Who told you about that?”

Once more rolling his eyes, Bucky looked back at his lover. “While I was in the hospital, I’d asked if you’d been hurt. One of the nurses said you’d been kicked in the head during a fight at that house.” Bucky couldn’t help the smug tone from his pride over his investigative skills.

“You asked about me?” Steve mumbled, unaware he’d spoken the thought out loud. After everything Bucky had been through, the brunet had still wanted to know if Steve had been hurt. 

Bucky uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. “Even at your most pig-headed, imbecilic, bloodhound mode, I worried, okay? Even if I didn’t think I could ever get near you again, I was still worried. You don’t think . . . you run into danger without stopping and using your brains, and it scares me!” Bucky clenched his fists, right hand shaking slightly, but his eyes were angry, not panicky.

“I’m sorry . . . I- - I don’t mean to scare you- -”

Shaking his head, Bucky cut Steve off, “so you better damn well not forget you promised to listen to the security team and stay in a safe zone. _No_ running off after the targets!”

Leaning over to kiss Bucky on the lips, gently, softly as he tried to convey all his emotions into the action, he cupped the side of his lover’s face and stroked the smooth skin under his thumb.

The reporter whimpered and leaned into the kiss, returning the pressure with need. Against Steve’s lips, he murmured, “I love you, Stevie. I don’t wanna lose you.”

“You won’t. I love you too damn much. Call me selfish but I don’t want an existence without you,” the blond whispered back, not wanting anyone else in the room to hear. 

Nodding slightly, Bucky shifted and leaned his head on Steve’s shoulder, letting his eyes close, shutting out the crowd and the world, concentrating on Steve and his own breathing. After several deep, steady breaths, Bucky softly said “catch that bastard, Steve.”

Pressing another kiss into Bucky’s hair, Steve murmured, “He’s going down. I won’t stop until he’s six feet under the ground, Buck.”

Bucky opened his pale-blue eyes and met Steve’s vivid blue. “But do it safely. I don’t want to be alone because you go down with him.”

“I already told ya’. I ain’t leaving you. ‘Til the end of the line, Bucky,” Steve promised.

Tony clapped his hands, causing Bucky to jump. “Great, so, who’s for dinner? I’m thinking something new . . . like shwarma?”


	11. Gala

Chapter Eleven: Gala

A few weeks after the plan had been set, Steve stood in front of the body-length mirror in his room at Stark Tower. Nervously, the detective fidgeted with his tie, the bullet-proof vest, that he’d promised Bucky he’d wear, under his formals made the fabric of his shirt and jacket stretch tightly over his chest.

Steve would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy that Bucky would be staying at the Tower, that the brunet would be safe with Natasha and Riley. Jarvis would keep the Tower on lockdown and nothing could harm the journalist as long as he stayed inside.

He heard his lover enter the room, padding on bare feet. Something about the man’s step revealed a calmer nature than just weeks before.

True to his word, the reporter had sought out Dr. Strange and had been accepted for an immediate consult that very afternoon. Since the surgeon-turned-psychiatrist had changed Bucky’s medications and gone over Riley’s therapy methods, the traumatized journalist seemed to be calmer, more in control. And with the addition of a physical therapy routine, Dr. Strange felt that Bucky might regain most of the function of his right hand in several months.

Naturally, the vast improvements were a source of delight, but they worried Steve as well. Bucky had been adamant at the start that he wanted in on the sting. He had yet to make good on the threat of a ‘recount’ for his participation.

The brunet reporter walked into the room from their attached bathroom, interrupting Steve’s thoughts, a worried look in his steel-blue eyes. When he saw Steve, he smiled, pushing away his fear in favor of admiration. “You look gorgeous, doll,” he cooed, striding over to his lover and running his hands over the jacket. The excuse he’d used if asked was that he wanted to smooth out any wrinkles, but Bucky actually checked expertly for the bullet proof vest Steve had promised to wear. Satisfied, the journalist kissed the detective’s lips.

Answering the kiss with another gentle peck on the lips, Steve leaned over to kiss his boyfriend on the forehead. “Nothing is as gorgeous as you, Buck,” The blond detective murmured against Bucky’s skin. 

Dressed casually since he would be staying at the tower and had opted for comfort, the journalist murmured, “I meant in your finery . . . love a guy in dress uniform.” He raised a rather relaxed right hand, even though just weeks previously his nerves would have caused the injured limb to cramp up into a semblance of a stiff claw. Laying the hand flat against Steve’s chest, Bucky smiled softly, though his eyes still showed worry.

Seeing the worry that shined in the the journalist’s eyes, Steve wrapped his arms comfortingly around his lover and brought Bucky in close. The detective kissed the top of the brunet’s head and stated quietly, “Everything is going to be okay, Bucky. There is going to be so much security that as soon as they show their faces they’ll be taken down.”

Scoffing, eyes lowering to hide his sudden annoyance at Steve’s thick-headedness, Bucky grumbled “a sniper doesn’t show his face.”

Pulling away slightly so he could look at Bucky’s face, the detective nodded, “You’re right . . . they don’t. But we’ll catch him regardless. We’ll have snipers of our own on every rooftop surrounding the venue. They’ll be very vigilant.”

“Steve, you aren’t helping.” Bucky raised his eyes, a darker grey-blue than normal since the well of intense emotion. “They will sneak that sniper into the Gala. He won’t be circulating among the guests. In fact, if I was the mastermind, I’d use Rumlow as bait to draw you out, have my sniper shoot you, and then blow the entire place up to take the rest of law enforcement with you. I’d sacrifice Rumlow to do it . . . it’s military strategy without the humanity we Americans like to pretend to use.”

Releasing a deep sigh, Steve knew he wasn’t going to be able to say anything to calm Bucky down. Instead of spending the last few minutes arguing about the safety of the Gala, the detective pressed his lips against the journalist’s again. “I love you . . . you know that right?” the blond breathed.

Letting his eyes close, Bucky kissed Steve back, his hands still flat on Steve’s broad chest. Finally, he pulled back and shook his head, opening his eyes. “Look, Steve, don’t let your guard down. Yeah, you’ll be surrounded by friends and fellow cops, but we don’t know what our sniper looks like . . . and if Rumlow has even more friends than the sniper. Tony said he’s working on having Jarvis interface with museum security, but the link won’t be complete for maybe half an hour . . . something about incompatible programming.” Bucky kissed Steve’s chin softly. For a man who two weeks before seemed always on the edge of near-madness, Bucky remained calm and in control.

“Trust me, there is no way I’m letting my guard down. I’m taking down Rumlow tonight and whoever the hell he’s working for,” Steve said as he ran his hand gently through the journalist’s hair. 

Taking a deep breath, Bucky shook his head. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. We’re trying to get them to make a move. We can’t expect to take all three, or more, down in one blow.” Bucky looked towards the door and softly added, “Wade heard through the grapevine that a solid hit has been ordered on Peter.” Bucky looked back up at Steve. “Fisk seems to be making his move.”

“I’d like to see anyone try to hurt Peter while Wade’s around . . . those two have been inseparable. Wade seems to really like the kid.” Steve smiled softly.

Bucky snorted softly. “He likes anyone who can twist himself into a pretzel. Wonder if they’re sexual yet or if Peter’s still too shy around Wade.”

Scrunching his nose is mock distaste, Steve groaned, “That is not an image I need in my head, Bucky. I’d much rather have images of you . . .” The detective leaned down again to press his lips against Bucky’s.

“Hmmm,” the brunet smirked. “I never told you to have near-pedophilic fantasies about my replacement, dirty old man,” Bucky teased, breathing into the kiss.

Pulling away and putting his hand on his chest, Steve gasped his bottom lip jutting out in a pout, “Old man? You wound me, Buck, when did you become so mean?”

With a snort of some amusement, the reporter placed a finger over Steve’s lips. “I’ve always been mean. You’ve just been too love-sick to notice. Guess images of that college kid have disrupted my spell. Drat, now I have to go find my alchemy set and brew another love potion to get back into your pants.” Bucky didn’t really concentrate on the playful nonsense, too busy thinking through what he’d need to do that night to help keep Steve safe, since he’d be several blocks away. The playful banter felt good, but the reporter’s attention was split.

“Mhhmm,” Steve muttered and kissed Bucky’s neck, sucking on the sensitive flesh gently, “Don’t need no potion for that, Baby.”

“Oh? So, you don’t want the potion I’d offer you?” Bucky suddenly smirked wickedly and stepped back, curling his right hand against his chest in a month-long habit, though the limb remained loose and fluid. His eyes danced in mischief and the reporter stepped further away, circling his hips a bit in suggestion.

Biting back a growl, not wanting to trigger a reaction from his lover, Steve groaned loudly and threw his head back childishly. “Come back!” The detective followed the brunet, careful not to spook him as he reached out a hand.

“Ready to go, Steve?” a loud knock on the door accompanied Sam shouting through the wood. “Gala starts in like ten, and we gotta wait in line and run the carpet.”

Bucky pouted, turning a glare on the door and the unsuspecting detective on the other side.

Sighing softly, Steve nodded and ran his hand through his hair, “Kiss for luck?” he asked, looking at Bucky with hopeful eyes.

“Hell, with all the kisses I’ve been giving you, Stevie, you’ve gotta be the luckiest man alive!” The brunet stepped quickly into Steve’s embrace and kissed him, sealing their mouths together in passion, letting his tongue run over the seam of Steve’s lips.

Steve wrapped his arms around the brunet’s waist and deepened the kiss, allowing Bucky’s tongue to explore his mouth. 

“Now, Rogers!” Sam banged on the door again. “Put it away and let’s get going!”

Pulling away, Steve nodded as he tightened his hold on Bucky, wishing he didn’t ever have to let go.

Sighing, Bucky buried his face in Steve’s neck and inhaled slowly. Finally, he gently kissed Steve’s adam’s apple then pulled out of his lover's arms. “Go . . . come back horny,” he instructed, trying to keep the mood light.

Chuckling, Steve gave Bucky a lazy two-fingered salute, and said, “Yes, Sir! I love you, Baby. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

Reaching over to open the door, Bucky stepped out of the way as Sam nearly decked him while trying to bang on the now missing door. Amusement laced Bucky’s worried eyes and the reporter stepped from the bedroom, heading directly for Tony’s expensive coffee maker. “Love you too, Doll. I’ll be watching the show from here, so don’t you go flirting with the pretty boys or I’ll have to tie you up in the bedroom later . . . or maybe I won’t. What’s the bigger threat?” He glanced over at his boyfriend as Sam’s jaw dropped and the dark-haired detective groaned.

Smirking as he made his way to the elevator, Steve felt a jolt of pleasure at the mere idea of what Bucky had suggested. “You can punish me anytime you want, Baby.”

“T.M.I. guys!” Sam groaned. He grabbed his partner by the shoulders and pushed him into the elevator, calling back “love you, Riley. Keep him under control!”

“Love you, too!” Riley shouted back. 

Silently, Clint kissed Nat long and lovingly then stepped away and into the elevator, joining the other men going ‘stud’ to the Gala.

They left the Tower and got into a limousine that Tony insisted upon. Tony and Sharon were already at the venue, and Wade and Peter were arriving on their own. Both Sam and Clint looked focused; Steve knew that they were relieved that their significant others would also not be attending the Gala.

The drive to the museum, where the annual Police Benefit Gala took place, didn’t take long. The limousine pulled up alongside the curb in front of the large stone building. A wide red carpet covered the stairs that led up to the front entrance, and throngs of reporters lined the barricaded borders of the stairs, the flashes of their cameras lighting up the darkening sky. Taking a deep breath, Steve ran his hand through his blond hair and nodded once.

“Alright . . . let’s get this show on the road,” the blond detective groaned and stepped out of the car as the door opened. Steve waited for Clint and Sam to step out behind him before straightening his jacket and stepping up onto the first of the many steps leading up to the museum.

Questions from the faceless reporters rang in Steve’s ears. _Detectives! Is it true Fisk is pressing charges against you? Did you neglect your duties as officers of the law? Did you really not know that Fisk had been taken? Detective Rogers, what is your relation with James Barnes?_

The three men raced up the steps, ignoring every single question that had been shouted at them. Finally, once inside the museum, Steve let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The blond detective looked around at the warmly lit room around him, banners with the NYPD symbol hanging throughout the space. A light tune played by the orchestra lightened the room and Steve could see several couples dancing on the wooden floor.

“They probably won’t make a play until later in the evening . . . they’ll want as much collateral damage as possible,” Steve murmured, leaning in close so that he could talk to Sam and Clint without the danger of being overheard. The last thing they needed was a mass panic which could force Crossbones and the sniper into doing something rash.

Sam nodded as his eyes scanned the filling room. “SWAT is on standby. We have snipers stationed on the rooftops surrounding the museum. We’ll catch ‘em, Steve.”

“I just hope it’s before they do anything,” Steve grumbled before walking further into the room.

“Good to see how Bucky’s improved on the new regiment,” Clint added as if distracted from the problem at hand; but the man really was trying to reassure Steve that his lover would be fine . . . so Steve could concentrate fully on their mission.

Flicking his eyes to the ex-cop, Steve smiled softly, “Yeah . . . Doctor Strange is working wonders.”

“He still had a couple of panic attacks over the last few weeks, but yeah, Bucky’s been doing great. Riley’s real happy with their progress, since they’ve been able to get deeper into their therapy,” Sam added to the conversation.

“Means we can rely on him to stay put unless we need him,” Clint added, scanning the area for familiar and unfamiliar faces alike.

“God, I hope so.” Steve breathed, the last thing he needed tonight was Bucky showing up.

With a shrug, Clint glanced at Steve. “He’s pretty much like he was a year ago, except the occasional flip out. But his new doctor has been helping lots, Steve. I think you hit on something brilliant with the idea of switching his meds.” The ex-cop began to scan the venue for exits, entrances,and nest areas that might be used.

“That’s what scares me, Clint.” Steve grimaced, “He is almost like he was a year ago. And a year ago he’d rather be dead than miss something like this. It terrifies me.”

With a snort, the shorter blond shook his head and offered a grin. “That’s why I had Tony program Jarvis not to let Bucky leave the Tower unless you’re sent to the hospital or one of us remove the protocols. Even if you get in trouble, he’ll be held there until things are cleared up.” Clint shrugged. “Of course, you’ll have a very pissed boyfriend when he finds out what I did.”

Steve knew Clint was right, if Bucky did try to leave the Tower and couldn’t . . . the blond detective would have a livid boyfriend to welcome him home. 

Sam suddenly added softly, “wow, the rage sex might last days.” He laughed softly, grinning noticeably at a couple passing by, as if the trio talked of inconsequentials.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite trifecta of cops!” Wade’s voice called out suddenly from behind the three men. The scarred man felt slightly uncomfortable in his black tux, unused to wearing nice clothes. He felt out of his element all dressed up and surrounded by New York’s finest.

Clint jumped and whirled around, a very big indicator that he, too, was still a victim of Post Traumatic Stress. However, he merely cocked an eyebrow at the cocky merc. “And if it isn’t my favorite reborn-Mexican.”

Gasping loudly, Wade smiled cheekily at the stocky blond. “Awe . . . Barton that might be the nicest thing someone has ever said to me. Ya’ hear that Baby-Boy?” The mercenary turned to look at the lanky brunet that stood next to him, “You might have some competition.”

“From a married man?” Peter asked absently, scanning the crowd. He shifted his hand and flicked his thumb over a small device but didn’t lift it. “If that’s your kink, I can wear a ring.” Obviously, the youth wasn’t paying attention or he’d have been blushing and stammering.

Steve’s mouth fell open slightly and he looked to his partner in disbelief. 

Surprise crossed Sam’s face and he glanced over to Wade. He didn’t say anything, but the college-aged man’s comment had taken the detective by surprise.

Letting out a loud laugh at the incredulous looks on the detectives’ faces, Wade wrapped his arm around the journalist’s shoulders and squeezed tightly, “The first thing I am buying tomorrow is a ring.”

“What?” Peter turned his full attention on Wade and titled his head, puzzled. “What’cha need a ring for?” Something caught his eyes and he glanced over at the crowd, flicking his thumb over the palmed device again. Then Peter seemed to catch on and he flushed brightly, bowing his head and shaking it. “I said that out loud?”

Sam looked at Steve, a question in his eyes. _‘Are these two really a couple?’_ he mouthed.

Interrupting the playful teasing in a soft voice, Clint said, “I think we need to scatter. Attracting attention.” Without waiting for acknowledgement, the stocky blond walked off into the middle of the talking guests, greeting people and laughing. Once he’d made his rounds, the ex-cop would find his own sniper nest to hide in.

Steve cast another curious look at Wade and Peter before offering them a small smile. “Wade, you stay with Peter.”

“Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else,” Wade sang back; he smiled at Peter, “Looks like you're stuck with me for the _entire_ evening.”

“Uh,” Peter stammered, “okay . . .sure . . . we . . . uh . . .”

Grabbing Peter’s empty hand, Wade pulled the journalist away, his voice trailing as he walked away, “C’mon Baby-Boy . . . I see the buffet table. I hope they have chimichangas . . .”

“They won’t.” Peter seemed to have regained his composure with the new subject as the pair disappeared from view.

“What the hell just happened?” Steve asked Sam with a light chuckle. 

“I think Wade got lucky?” Sam asked back, looking puzzled as he watched the pair head towards the buffet room. “And Clint just proved to be more social than I’ve ever seen him?”

Steve’s eyes scanned the filling room, the Gala having been officially going for almost an hour. The ballroom echoed with the soft music, played by the orchestra, and the noise of many different conversations.The detective’s eyes caught on the sight of Sharon, dressed in a floor-length white gown that hugged her curves, dancing with Tony, who wore a sleek black tuxedo. The inventor whispered something in her ear and she threw her head back, laughing fondly. Steve smiled, he may not always agree with Stark but those two deserved to be happy. 

The blond turned his attention back to his partner, “Do you think this is gonna work, Sam?” 

“Depends on how much Henry’s changed since the old days. If you’re sure he’ll come . . .” Sam deliberately used the code-name they’d assigned Rumlow so no one listening would catch on in case he worked with the serial killer. “And his buddies.”

Clenching his jaw tightly, Steve nodded firmly. He wanted nothing more than to catch Rumlow and put the bastard in the ground. The detective knew that catching either Rumlow or the sniper could lead to nailing Fisk. And once those three men were either dead or locked away, then Bucky would finally be completely safe. 

“They’ll be here,” Steve said, his voice firm. “We made it too easy for them not to come.”

“And if they’re cleverer than you like? If they realize just how easy . . . hey, Jonah five o’clock, Steve.” Sam nodded his chin in the direction of an immaculately dressed heavy man in a dove grey tuxedo.

Steve’s head snapped in the direction of the large man, his eyes narrowing into a glare as he watched Fisk shake hands with the NYPD police commissioner. The blond detective was surprised Stark had invited him, but maybe with him being here they could kill three birds with one stone. Fisk seemed to catch the blond’s glare and smirked, then the politician made his way over to the two detectives.

“Rogers and Wilson. I thought this Gala only benefitted police officers, which neither one of you are right now,” Fisk said, his voice booming.

“Last I checked, Mr. Fisk, neither are you,” Sam smiled smoothly at the politician.

“I am a huge benefactor for the NYPD, Mister Wilson. The commissioner and I are quite close.” The large politician stated, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glared at Sam. 

“Yes, I am sure your largesse knows no bounds, sir,” Sam simpered at the large, rich man.

Narrowing his eyes even more, Fisk turned his attention to Steve. “How is Mr. Barnes? Such a shame what happened to him. He was a very good journalist. I enjoyed reading his articles on Hell’s Kitchen.”

Sam cut off Steve before he could respond. “From what we understand, Barnes is recovering in the care of friends.”

“Oh?” Fisk’s eyebrows shot up.

“Yes, It’s not easy to have your reputation shredded by someone you consider a competent, reliable role model.” Sam narrowed his eyes but kept a smile on his face.

“I can assure you that was not my intent. The public had to know what he went through as a result of you two not doing your job. If you had . . . well maybe Mr. Barnes wouldn’t have had to go through such a horrendous attack.” Fisk didn’t even look at Sam, instead he kept his gaze locked on Steve. 

“Mister Wilson Fisk?” A young voice interrupted the trio followed by a gentle clearing of a throat. “Sir?”

Turning to look at the person who’d interrupted the conversation, Fisk cocked an eyebrow when he saw Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson. “Mr. Murdock and Mr. Nelson. What are two defense lawyers doing at a NYPD Gala?” 

“Well, Mr. Stark did open up several invitations to the general public, Sir.” Foggy offered a tight smile then held out an envelope. “But, we’re not here as defense lawyers. We’ve been hired . . . our client is pressing charges of invasion of privacy by public revelation of private information.”

Snatching the envelope out of the lawyer’s hand with a quick flick of his wrist, Fisk open it and skimmed through the information. “Ah, Mr. Barnes? Such a shame that he feels the need to come after me for trying to help the public. I can assure you I will have these charges thrown out first thing Monday morning.”

Tilting his head, Matt smirked softly, his red sunglasses reflecting the huge man, “I highly doubt that, Mr. Fisk. These charges are pretty airtight.”

“You will regret coming after me,” Fisk snarled, his fist crumpling the paper. “How is an out of work reporter supposed to pay for all of this?” 

“Well, as you may or may not have heard, Mr. Barnes has become quite close with Mr. Anthony Stark? Mr. Stark is covering all costs.” Foggy revealed the information, though he still felt uncomfortable with the fact that Tony had insisted on being a target, too.

“I will make all your lives _hell_. You hear me? You will wish that you’d just stuck with guilty criminals. I will _destroy_ every single one of you,” Fisk growled, leaning in closer to the two lawyers.

“Ah, so you got our little missive, eh, Wilson?” Tony’s voice smoothly cut into the threats. The rich inventor stood behind the large man, Sharon on his arm. “Enjoying the platform? Oh, uh, party?”

“Mr. Fisk was just threatening to make our lives hell, Mr. Stark.” Matt reported, his tone sounding as if he were telling a joke. 

“Ah,” Tony smiled and turned to Fisk as if he was in on the joke as well. “So, you’re not pleased with my boyfriend’s invitation to visit Lady Justice?” Tony turned to Sharon and explained, as if she had no clue what was going on, “you recall that rather inflammatory claim Wilson made across the networks a few weeks back? Well, Bucky-Bear wasn’t amused. So, I’ve offered to help him teach Wilson some manners.” He smiled back at Fisk once more.

Fisk clenched his fists, and for a moment Steve thought the politician was actually going to punch Tony. “Well . . . tell your _boyfriend_ that he’s going to wish that he never got out of that house after I’m done with him.”

“Is that a threat, Mr. Fisk?” Matt asked, eyebrow raising slightly, “We wouldn’t want to add threatening my client to your charges . . . now would we?”

Sam played the game of not being involved in the court case. “I’m witnessing this . . . what sounds like a threat against Mr. Barnes specifically?”

Fisk glared at both Sam and Matt, his fist beginning to shake and his face turning a deep shade of red. His lips twitched, but the politician didn’t say anything.

“Witnessed by two police officers, in fact,” Foggy echoed obediently.

“We will be adding the threatening charges, Mr. Fisk.” Matt stated, “We’ll be seeing you in court.”

Before the red-faced man could retaliate, Foggy gently took Matt’s arm and guided him away, calling, “good evening, gentlemen, miss.”

Tony watched, amused, and turned back to the two disciplined detectives and the mayoral candidate, Sharon still on the inventor’s arm. “Well, enjoy my party, gentlemen. Sharon, have you tried the canapes?” He guided her away towards the buffet.

Spinning to face the two detectives, Fisk jabbed a meaty finger into the air in front of them. “You two will regret this.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow at Fisk, smirking slightly. “Regret what? Watching you get served?”

Taking a deep, ragged breath, Fisk seemed to compose himself. He straightened and smoothed the front of his tux. “Good night, _detectives_. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.” And with that the giant man turned on his heel and strode away, the crowds of people separating as he walked through them.

“Whew,” Sam let out a whoosh of air. “Thank god you kept your head and didn’t say anything, Steve! I really thought you’d get involved when Bucky’s name came up . . . and Tony claimed to be his boyfriend.” He looked at his partner.

Steve clenched his jaw, his blood pounded in his ears and he hadn’t realized he’d been clenching his fists until the pain of his nails in his palms forced him to relax. “I wanted to punch the bastard. He threatened Bucky.”

“And he threatened Matt and Foggy and both of us. Lot’s of bluster.” Sam grabbed Steve’s arm and led him towards the buffet. “He’s a playground bully and pit-bulling the swing set is all.”

Steve shook his head, “This is more than that, Sam. If Bucky is right and Fisk set up the kidnapping . . . he could be in real danger. We need to get evidence on Fisk.”

“We’ve been working the Fisk case for a year now, and we’ll keep working it,” Sam said, nodding towards a couple who seemed too close for privacy. “But there’s not much we can do on leave. Let the precinct handle it, Steve.” Sam turned a warning glance on his partner, trying to silently relay that they needed to be cautious what they said at the Gala.

Steve nodded, understanding Sam’s clue, and sighed. “You’re right. I just hate feeling useless.”

“Well, I did warn you to take up a hobby while we’re off work, Steve,” Sam said. “My cookbook's been coming along. I’m just having trouble deciding if I should arrange it by nationality of the recipe origins, you know Chimichangas on page 9 followed by that crazy bug dish, or if I should be more traditional and maybe list the really odd, stand out freaky things over on page three.”

Furrowing his brows at the odd comment, Steve looked over to his left and saw both Peter and Wade standing by the refreshments table. Peter flicked the mysterious object in his palm as he nodded along to what the mercenary said. Then the detective turned to his right and saw a lanky, bald man shuffling through the crowd, keeping his head low and his shoulders hunched. 

Wade’s eyes wandered throughout the room, his eyes catching on the two detectives. The mercenary saw that both of the men’s gazes were locked on a retreating figure. Wade could make out the mysterious man’s bald head and the lines of some sort of tattoo on his forehead. The scarred man instantly thought of the visit to the shooting range with Bucky a few weeks back, and the bald man who’d come in just as they were packing up. Bucky had told Wade that the man had been an excellent shot. “Baby-Boy,” Wade whispered quietly, “Does that bald guy look familiar to you?” The mercenary jutted his chin in the direction of the odd looking man.

Peter glanced up and scanned the area Wade indicated. Softly frowning, the brunet twisted his wrist and flicked his thumb over his device several times then nodded as the man disappeared around a corner. “Yeah,” he whispered. “He went into Fred’s place the day we met . . . maybe five or ten minutes before you came out.” with a small shake of his head, Peter looked up at Wade. “He’s got some sort of tattoo on his forehead, like a circle with a cross inside. What’s he doing here?”

“Shit,” Wade breathed; he grabbed the journalist’s hand again and began to make his way over to the two detectives. “He’s been following us.” 

“Hey, isn’t he an EMT?” Peter asked, letting Wade pull him along, no longer trying to take pictures with his palmed phone.

“Double shit,” Wade groaned as he realized that Peter was right, the bald man had been the imposter EMT. 

Sam turned to watch Wade and Peter approach, frowning softly. “Brother?” the dark-skinner detective asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Bald freak-show that just left.” Wade stated, lowering his voice to avoid being heard by any unwanted ears.

“Saw him,” Sam confirmed. He glanced at Steve. “Get a look at him, Steve?”

Steve nodded, but let Wade continue, “That guy was at Fred’s two weeks ago while Bucky and I were leaving.”

“Was he?” Sam frowned.

“Yeah, he went in the day I met Wade and Bucky coming out,” Peter confirmed quietly, “but he was an EMT, too.”

Steve narrowed his eyes in concentration, “Alright. This guy could very well be our sniper. We can’t let him know we’re on to him. We need to take him out quietly but fast.” The blond stated his tone taking on from his military days.

“Damn!” Sam grumbled under his breath. “Clint doesn’t know and hasn’t got a radio.”

“I can find him and tell him,” Peter volunteered before taking off running and diving among the crowd calling “look out! Bathroom break!” Once the youth got to the stairway, he flung himself up the outside rail, swinging into a stand of indoor decorative trees, disappearing from view.

“Fucking Spider-Monkey!” Wade grumbled, “The fucking kid has a hit on him . . . for Christ’s sake!” And then the mercenary bolted in the same direction as Peter, trying to catch up with the agile journalist.

Sam breathed out in surprised. “I suddely feel fuckin’ old!”

“You and me both, Pal.” Steve nodded before pulling out his phone, “We need to contact Fury.”

As Steve put the phone to his ear, someone staggered into Sam, who tripped into Steve, and the phone exploded in Steve’s hand just as it reached the side of his face.

“Fuck!” Steve exclaimed as he dropped to the ground in a low crouch, the screams of the Gala’s many guests were painfully loud in the blond’s ears. “Shit! Sam? Are you okay?” 

The paratrooper had dove under the buffet table as soon as he registered that the phone had exploded from a bullet. He didn’t get a chance to answer Steve as he shimmied along the ground away from Steve to try to get to a group of young ladies, deserted by the food. “Down, ladies!” he called from under the table, grabbing the first one he reached - - Sharon! “Carter, get down!”

Sharon, dazed by the unexpected gunfire, collapsed to the ground in a huff next to Sam as the other women hurried in various directions to find either their weapons or their dates with weapons. She blinked a few times and finally got back in control of herself. Her blue eyes hardened and focused on the detective.

“Where the hell did Stark go?” Sam hissed, peeking out from under the tablecloth to see if he could spot the sniper. “That one just missed Steve’s head.”

“I don’t know!” Sharon said, “As soon as the gunshot rang out, he bolted, saying something about getting Jarvis to look through all the security cameras and find the shooter . . .”

“Well, we need to get to weapons,” the detective said and nodded towards the cloak room in the distance “Let’s go.” He led her away from the general ruckus, trusting Steve to take care of himself.

Steve got on his belly and made his way over to a pillar, one that blocked the line of fire from the first shot, and got back to his feet but still staying low to the ground. Finally, the detective became aware of the multiple cuts on his hand from the bullet’s impact on his phone. His right hand bled profusely, drops of blood splattered against the marble floor. “Shit!” Steve cursed again, his heart thumping heavily against his ribcage, he had no way of contacting anyone. 

As if to make up for his miss, another gunshot rang out, this one hitting the police commissioner right between the eyes. Now that someone had been seriously hit, screams ripped from throats as the rest of the people ran for cover and weapons. Quickly a third shot rang out from the obviously not-silenced weapon. The bullet hit a woman in the back of the head . . . her identity would take some time to confirm with the damage done.

The blond detective’s eyes found a young woman; she was still standing, her eyes wide in shock and her feet frozen to the floor. Without thinking, Steve bolted from his hiding spot and tackled her to the ground just as the fourth shot echoed.

Another shot rang out but a decorative tree toppled over Steve and the victim, that shot silenced and coming from an entirely different direction from the original sniper’s.

“Come on,” Steve stated as he pushed the fallen tree off of them. He wrapped his arms around the crying woman’s shoulder and ushered her, still keeping close to the ground, towards the bar. The detective made it behind the large surface, Steve made sure the woman was far enough behind to be out of danger of being hit.

A slap on the back of Steve’s shoulder, from behind the bar, startled the large blond and Tony sang out “just me, Rambo! Here, put this in.” The billionaire offered a small earbud to Steve, nodding to the woman with a smile. “Hello, Rosalind. What a lovely gown. I’ll have the scuffs removed from your shoes . . . how did you get the color to match so exactly?”

Rosalind looked at Tony incredulously, her black hair tangled and tears ruining her make-up. She opened her mouth to say something but her jaw snapped shut.

“What’s your drink, Rosalind? Open bar tonight.” Tony moved to man the nozzles and glasses, winking at Steve. He flicked a small lapel pin at Steve behind the woman’s back.

Steve rolled his eyes and put in the earbud that the inventor had offered him. “Can Jarvis locate the shooters?” The detective asked.

“I see him,” came the steady voice in a slow midwestern drawl rather than a clipped British accent, sounding softly in Steve’s earbud..

Looking at Tony with wide eyes, Steve asked, “Who’s the new guy?” 

Looking puzzled, Tony shrugged. “I don’t know. Only one’s with comm contrl are you and Barton. No one else came by to get their share and Jarvis is locking down the Tower and the doors and windows of the museum.” He poured a large glass of ice water for the woman.

“Barton?” Steve pressed his fingers to his ear. “Barton, you copy?”

“Yes, don’t shout. You’re connected to my aids, Rogers,” Clint replied, sounding calm.

“You see the shooter?” Steve asked trying to keep his voice low to avoid hurting the other man.

“Believe so,” the native of Iowa responded. “Directly across from me, in fact. And trying to draw a bead on you. Stay behind the bar.”

“Copy that,” Steve answered, “Thanks for the cover with the tree by the way.”

A grunt responded. “Yeah, had to give up a good view,” Clint answered softly. “He’s moving. Drawing a bead on Sam over by the coat check.” A soft breath came out then Clint added, “or he’s aiming at Sharon . . . I don’t think the idiot knows which he wants to target. Not a very well trained sniper,” Clint criticized. He obviously had planted himself nowhere near the sniper or he wouldn’t have been talking at all. He had to be somewhere he wouldn’t give away his locale by his voice or actions.

“Barton . . . if you have the shot. Take it.” Steve stated, not wanting Sam or Sharon to get killed.

“Dead or disabled?” Clint asked softly.

“Disabled if possible . . . but just take ‘im out.” 

“The guy’s a wiggler . . . I think he’s allergic to the plants he’s in. Bit of a rash.” Suddenly a gunshot rang out from the balcony about halfway between Steve and Sam, but the shot hit the ceiling and part of the glass ceiling came raining down. A man fell over the rail of the balcony to the series of couches and chairs arranged on the first floor, crashing into the furniture. The fall may have been broken but would not be easy.

“Bullseye,” crooned Clint.

“Is the coast clear, Barton?” Steve asked.

Barton’s voice answered, “keep low to check the target. I’ll keep high. I haven’t seen another trigger, but you never know.”

Following Clint’s suggestion, Steve kept low to the ground as he made his way over to where the sniper had fallen. Glass littered the area and Steve could feel the shards cutting his skin. The detective finally made his way to where the man had landed and he eyed the body. The man’s left arm and leg were bent at weird angles from the landing. Blood oozed from a bullet wound on his abdomen and a trail of red leaked from the corner of his mouth. Steve grabbed the front of the sniper’s shirt, hoisting him up slightly off the ground. “Who are you? Who do you work for?”

“Shit! Barnes wasn't supposed to be healed! How the hell did he get here?” the guy groused in an irish brogue. “What, you a fuckin’ cat with nine lives? I never miss!”

Shaking the injured man, Steve ground out, “Who is your boss?!” 

The man spit a mouthful of blood at Steve, getting his neck. “Fuck off, Bobby! Fisk don’t pay me to take a belly wound!”

“Fisk?” Steve growled, unaffected by the glob of blood and saliva that trickled down his neck, “Wilson Fisk hired you? Why is he going after Barnes? What’s the endgame?”

Blinking up at Steve, eyes glazing, the man with the bullseye tattooed to his forward spit another wad of bloody mucus at Steve’s face.”Bastard said the squealer got too close to the truth. Gotta take that shit down. Rumlow ain’t doing the job quick enough.”

“So Fisk hired Rumlow first.” Steve stated, “Fisk hired Rumlow to kidnap him.”

“Kidnap? Fuck that. Rumlow got hired to distract you stupid bobbies! He went rogue when he saw you with that hot tail. When he grabbed the bastard, Fisk set you up.” The man coughed, grinning. “Too bad you’re as dumbass as he said, arsehole.”

Tightening his grip on the sniper’s shirt, Steve gave the man another firm shake. “What is Fisk’s plan?”

“Gads you’re stupid!” the man coughed up more blood and wrapped his right arm around his bleeding, oozing guts. “You ever watch the Godfather, you bloody wanker?”

“He wants complete control. As the Kingpin?” Steve ventured, trying to get the bald man to give up as much information as possible before the man man bled out.

“Stupid Yanks. Stupid codenames.” Groaning, he asked, “ain’t you a bobby? You’re supposed to help my arse not let me bleed out in the museum!”

“You’re dead anyway,” Steve snarled, “Nothin’ I can do, can’t put your intestines back in place. Where’s Rumlow?” 

With a low groan, the man spat but the blood and mucus merely dribbled down his own chin. “Stupid fuckin’ Kingpin arsehole Fisk! He’s the one should be lyin’ here bleedin’!” More blood gushed from the belly wound, smelling of bile.

“Tell me where Rumlow is!” The detective snapped.

A raspy laugh exploded from the dying man. “Taking out the witness, ‘course, you bleedin’ noddy. Ain’t gonna let him survive, is he?”

Steve let the sniper fall back as he released the man’s shirt. What witness? It couldn’t be Bucky . . . Bucky was safe at the Tower. There was no way Rumlow could get through Stark’s security protocols.

Tony’s voice called out loudly, “what the hell do you mean the Tower’s been breached! JARVIS! Lock it down!”

Steve’s head snapped in Tony’s direction, he jumped to his feet, nearly slipping in the blood that had pooled. “Tony! Get Bucky on the phone . . . now!” The detective ordered his voice shaking with fear.

“What?” Tony whirled around, brushing dirt from his tuxedo as he strolled over to Steve. Making a face, he glared down at the man in the pool of glass and blood. “That was Tiffany’s, you clod!”

Clint’s voice softly interrupted. “Steve, that was Fury in the Tower. Tony hates the man and banned him, but Jarvis let him in.” The ex-cop paused then added, “I’ve got Riley on the line. He says the Gala’s all over the web and Bucky’s freaking out.”

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Steve nodded and walked away from the bleeding man, trying to contain the anxiety in his voice the detective said, “Riley? Can Bucky talk right now?” The blond made his way to a semi-secluded area.

“Yeah,” Riley’s voice chimed over the line, a few moments passed and Steve could hear a door being opened, “Buck? It’s Steve.”

“Steve?” Bucky sounded upset, a needy whine in his voice. “How is he? Is he hurt?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Riley offered quietly, his voice gentle and reassuring. 

The reporter’s voice trembled as he called out, “Steve? Can you hear me? Where are you now? I saw you get shot?”

“I’m alright, Baby. Bastard took out my cellphone, damn thing busted into a million pieces. My hand’s a bit cut up, but I’m okay. I’m alive. How are you doing, Buck?” Steve’s voice still quivered from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. 

“Stevie?” He whispered back, still sounding upset, close to tears.

“Baby, I’m okay, I promise.” The blond reassured. 

“Captain Rogers?” JARVIS’ voice intoned gently, “Sergeant Barnes is unconscious now. He passed out.”

Steve closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Alright. If he wakes up before I get home, tell him I’ll be there soon. Show him video of me walking around or something.”

“Will you be informing the investigators of the information you obtained or will you wait until you can debrief Agent Romanov?” JARVIS asked politely. “Your communications link recorded the entire conversation, but I was unable to acquire video evidence.”

“We’re gonna wait until Romanov and Carter can hear the tape. The FBI is going to be very interested in what the sniper had to say,” Steve answered.

“The woman has been identified,” JARVIS added as if out of the blue. “She was the director of a child safety program in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Shit. Matt and Foggy probably knew her.” Steve breathed out, “With the recording Fisk is going down.” 

JARVIS asked “Captain Rogers? According to bioscans, Mister Fisk is close to your location. Also, attorney Murdock is not on the first floor and attorney Nelson is in the Egyptian Room, injured.”

“Matt’s by himself?” Steve asked, already making his way to the Egyptian Room to check on Foggy. “How hurt is Nelson?” 

“I’ve got eyes on Murdock,” sang out Clint. “And Sam can go after Foggy. If Bucky’s that bad, Steve, you need to grab Sharon and get back to the Tower.”

“Right,” Steve nodded, “Where’s Sharon now?”

“Coat Check with Sam,” Clint said, “Whoa!” Something exploded just behind Steve, causing something even bigger to stagger and nearly fall. “Steve, run!”

Steve took off, not daring to look behind to to avoid the possibility of either tripping or slowing down enough for the attacker to catch him. “JARVIS! Have Sharon meet me at the Tower. I have to get out of here.”

“Affirmed, Captain Rogers.” JARVIS replied. “I will send Mister Stark to retrieve Agent Carter.”

"What the hell was that, Barton?” Steve asked as he ran out the front entrance.

“Largest grey land whale I ever seen,” Clint drawled. “Took out his derringer, but he seemed pretty peeved.”

“Fisk? Fisk just tried to kill me . . .” Steve shook his head, “I’ll deal with that later. Jarvis, is there a car that I can take? Stark had us come in a limo.”

“Yeah,” Clint answered, “and the spider got it on his camera.”

“Mister Hogan is around the left side of the museum, Captain,” JARVIS answered.

Nodding, Steve turned left and rounded the corner of the museum. “Clint . . . can you make sure everyone knows where I am.”

“I’ll get them home,” Clint promised instead of what Steve asked.

“Thank you.” Steve muttered and finally spotted Happy waiting by a sleek, blue Corvette. “Happy! I need to borrow that car!” the detective called out as he closed the distance between them.

Jumping to attention, Happy opened the passenger door for Steve. “Yes, Sir, I can take you wherever you need to go. Wait . . .” he winced at the sight of the blood, glass, leaves, and tree dirt. “Sir? Can’t you use the limousine?”

Steve turned to glare at Happy; the blond stormed over to the driver’s side and wrenched open the door. The detective sank into the driver’s seat, luckily the keys were already in the ignition, and started the car with a fierce roar of the engine. 

“Sir!” Happy stepped back out of the way, his protest merely show since there was no way he could pull the determined man from the corvette.

Stepping on the gas, Steve sped away from the museum, the tires screeching on the asphalt. “How’s Bucky doing?” The detective asked as he peeled around the corner.

Again JARVIS responded, “he is waking up but is confused and uncommunicative. His doctor is with him.”

Steve sighed and shook his head, the adrenaline wearing off, and he suddenly felt exhausted. His whole body ached but he wanted nothing more than to make sure Bucky was okay The drive took even less time in the corvette than in the limousine. Within ten minutes Steve pulled into the parking garage and raced over to the elevator. 

“Jarvis? Can you have Nat get me a wet towel or something. I don’t want to scare Buck with all the blood.” Steve asked as the elevator door opened. 

“Yes, sir. Washing materials will be provided,” JARVIS replied calmly

After Steve reached the penthouse, the door slid open.

Nick Fury sat there in the common room, looking exhausted. He pushed to his feet and tossed a damp towel at Steve. “You asked for this?”

Accepting the towel with a small nod of gratitude, Steve began to wipe away as much blood and grime as he could, making sure to clean off the bloody spit from the sniper. Some of the cuts on his hand still bled, so after Steve was satisfied with his clean-up job, the detective wrapped the towel around his injured hand.

The police captain reached for Steve and pulled off his lapel pin. “Might wanna put the spy gear away. It’s transmitting to the other room,” he muttered as he flicked a tiny switch on the pin.

Steve gave his captain another nod before asking, “Jarvis . . . is Bucky in his room?”

“No, Captain. He is in the doctor’s room,” JARVIS replied. “He collapsed closer to that room than his own.”

“Thank you,” Steve answered back and started to make his way to the room that Riley shared with Sam.

“Rogers,” Fury growled out.

Whirling around, Steve looked at Fury with tired eyes, “Captain?”

“You’re shirt’s covered in blood and dirt. Sure you wanna drag that into the room with Barnes?” He shook his head. “I’d say strip it and go in a robe or whatever. That guy’s panicked enough.”

Nodding slowly, Steve unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off his shoulders. His actions were lethargic and robotic. The detective undid the bullet proof vest and let it fall unceremoniously to the floor. 

Nick grabbed the destroyed dress uniform from the detective as he stripped. “Jarvis, tell Romanov to get a robe for Steve and meet him outside Riley’s room.” The captain’s tone came out soft, almost caring. “And tell Riley politely to find another room for the night unless he wants Rogers manhandling Barnes into their own room.”

“Yes, Captain Fury,” JARVIS replied then relayed the messages.

Now in nothing but a tight undershirt and his uniform pants, Steve walked over to Riley’s room. Nat leaned against the wall next to the slightly ajar door. She had one of Steve’s baggy sweatshirts draped over one of her arms. When she noticed the detective walk into the hallway, she wordlessly handed it over to Steve.

From the open door came Bucky’s confused voice, “he promised. He promised me.” Those words repeated over and over no matter what Riley said.

Steve took the sweatshirt and pulled it over his head, careful to avoid his damaged hand as much as possible. “Bucky?” Steve called out gently, “Baby? Is it okay if I come in?”

The voice stopped instantly. Slowly, almost too soft to hear, Bucky asked “Stevie?” The sound of someone rising from a bed came from inside the room.

Carefully, Steve pushed open the door and stepped into the room. The detective saw Riley standing by the edge of the bed and Bucky rising to his feet, a hopeful look crossing his tired features. The brunet seemed as exhausted as the large blond felt.

“Stevie? You promised to come back . . .” he said as if reminding his lover.

Steve held his hands out innocently to his sides, “I know, Baby. I’m here. I’m okay.”

“Steve . . .” Riley called out quietly, “We heard about Fisk.”

Bucky walked slowly up to his boyfriend and lay both hands lightly, flat on the man’s wide chest, his eyes not entirely focused. “You were shot?” He ran his hands over Steve’s chest as if checking him over for injuries.

“I was shot at,” Steve corrected softly, “Nothing hit me, Buck. I promise I’m okay.”

The reporter reached for Steve’s injured hand. “You’re hurt . . . bleeding . . .” he brought the hand to his cheek and stared at Steve’s throat not his face.

“Just a few cuts,” Steve answered, “The phone shattered in my hand.” The blond detective slowly raised his other hand and began to rub circles on the small of Bucky’s back. “I’m okay. Baby, I love you.” 

“You love me.” Bucky echoed with a sigh. “And you are safe.” He lifted his eyes, the soft grey-blue gaze troubled but not as gone as might be expected after being privy to such attacks. “Who got killed, Steve? You said someone was _‘dead already’_?”

Steve grimaced, he wished that Bucky hadn’t heard him talk to the sniper like that. “Uh . . . two people were shot and killed, the police commissioner and a lady who ran a children's program in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Commissioner was a dirty cop on Kingpin’s payroll,” Bucky murmured and leaned into Steve slowly, kissing at the man’s neck. “But Stephanie didn’t deserve death. She was challenging Fisk’s Empty Lot Program.” Bucky kissed Steve’s neck again. “Stephanie wanted safe playgrounds and parks, and Fisk wanted more housing and storefronts.”

Kissing Bucky’s temple gently, Steve continued, “Clint got the sniper, Bucky. The sniper’s gone.”

A sudden light flared in Bucky’s steel-blue eyes and he finally met the other man’s gaze. “Good,” he bit the word short. “He won’t hurt anyone else.” Shaking his head, eyes travelling back to Steve’s neck and voice going soft again, Bucky said, “someone should tell Nat that Clint’s okay . . . and Riley needs to know about Sam.” The reporter seemed unaware that Riley stood right there still and Nat had been outside the door.

“Sam’s alright. So is Clint. Sam was going to help Foggy, and Clint was going to round up Matt and Sharon. Murdock went off on his own . . . I swear sometimes I don’t even believe that man is blind.” The detective shook his head. 

“Eyes don’t react to light,” Bucky murmured moving Steve’s shirt collar slowly to the side, following the material with a soft kiss to the exposed flesh. “He’s just got a great sense of hearing and smell. Can tell where to be and when. Smart.” Bucky kissed again.

Goosebumps ran down Steve’s arms from the kisses Bucky placed on his neck. “I’m sorry I worried you, Baby.” The detective moved his uninjured hand to run his fingers through Bucky’s brown hair. 

The door swung softly open and Sam stood there. He was dirty and disheveled but with no signs of injuries. “Hey, Barnes, thanks for watching my guy. You can go back to your room now.”

Riley smiled at the sight of his boyfriend and ran over to embrace him. “Sam!” The therapist exclaimed joyfully.

Sam wrapped his arms around his lover enthusiastically. In the smaller blond man’s ear, the detective whispered, “Hey, babe. No one got hurt on the team.” He glanced at Steve then rolled his eyes, “at least nothing a Spongebob band aid won’t cover.”

“How’s Foggy? Jarvis said something about him being hurt,” Steve asked.

Wincing, Sam glared at Steve then looked at Bucky’s back and glared at his partner again. “Nah,” he said, “he ran into a pillar in the confusion. He’s fine. Just a lump and a black eye.” Sam made a series of distorted faces at Steve, still glaring.

Bucky kept his hands on Steve’s chest and kissed his shoulder lightly again. “Steve? Let’s leave Riley to punish Sam for lying.” He kissed again.

Chuckling softly, Steve nodded, “Alright, let’s go lay down.” 

Lifting his hands from his lover's chest, Bucky met his eyes again. “Carry me?” his voice had the barest hint of a teasing tone suddenly.

Steve groaned playfully, “You’re too heavy!”

Pouting, Bucky turned and strode from the room. “Did he just call me fat, Romanov?” he asked his best friend.

Quirking an eyebrow at the pair as they left the room, Natasha smirked. “I don’t know, Bucky . . . you did have an extra serving of those cookies earlier . . .” She laughed slightly, shaking her head.

“But I stole some for him, too,” Bucky whined playfully. Apparently the soft, yet straight, talk in Riley’s room had helped calm the reporter from his worry . . . that and any meditation Riley had Bucky do before Steve showed up. “I swear I didn’t eat his share!”

“Well show me my share of these damn cookies I keep hearin’ so much about,” Steve muttered, his tone light.

“No,” Bucky calmly stated and walked into his bedroom, leaving the door ajar in unspoken invitation. “I’m trying to decide how to punish you for calling me fat.”

Steve walked into the room. He didn’t close the door; he’d let Bucky decide when to seal the room. He did, however, wrap his arms around his lover’s waist and press light kisses on the back of his neck. “You could always tie me up . . . like you were suggesting earlier.” 

A shudder ran through Bucky’s entire body and he drew in a sharp breath.

The detective moved his injured hand, and the towel got caught on one of Bucky’s metal fingers and a slight gasp of pain escaped his lips.

Whirling around, eyes widening, Bucky frowned. “You are hurt, Steve!” He immediately grabbed his lover by the wrist and unwound the towel to study the injury: a sliced palm from the shattered plastic with burn stippling around it. “Damn! You need stitches, Stevie.”

Steve shrugged, “Eh . . . it’s not that bad. Just stings a bit.”

“Probably severed the nerve,” Bucky growled and tugged Steve towards the door of the room. “Nat! He’s hurt!” The brunet’s voice sounded clear and somewhat annoyed.

Natasha poked her head out of her room a few doors down from Bucky’s. “How bad? Like hospital bad?”

“Says it stings a little but looks to need stitches. My hand’s doing better but not good enough for delicate stitching!” Bucky tugged Steve out of the bedroom.

Groaning softly, all Steve wanted to do was lay down in bed and cuddle with Bucky. “I’m fine, Bucky!” The detective whined.

“Not gonna let it go until you get checked, Steve!” Bucky growled at his lover.

Natasha shook her head and stepped out of the bedroom, she’d changed into her sleepwear and her hair was pulled into a messy bun on the top of her head.

Looking disheveled and dirty, Clint stepped into the sleep hall from the direction of the common room, the last of the group to return to the tower. He smiled as he saw Nat, unaware of Bucky’s mild over-reaction. “Hey, Tasha,” he purred.

Bucky growled. “Mine first! I need her help with Steve.”

Clint frowned and shook his head. “She told me in no uncertain tones that she doesn’t belong to anyone.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha gently took Steve’s hand into her own and examined the cut. After a few moments she smiled softly at both Bucky and Steve. “He’s fine, James. Just wash it out with antibacterial and wrap it up. It’s pretty shallow, just looks worse than it is.”

The name drew Bucky’s full attention and he nodded. “If you’re sure, Nat,” he answered. Bucky took Steve’s wrist again and led him back into the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind them. Once inside the room, Bucky took his boyfriend over to the bathroom and began to run the water, testing it’s warmth before easing Steve’s larger hand under the flow.

“See I told ya I was fine,” Steve smirked.

“Oh, no, it’s just a slight stomach ache. Only a bruise,” Bucky grumbled. He pulled the antibacterial soap out of the medicine cabinet and poured some of the liquid on Steve’s palm then began to gently massage the hand.

Steve hissed as the liquid began to disinfect the wound. “Ya know . . . when ya said you were gonna punish me . . . this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” the detective said through a small smile.

“You aren’t punished yet, doll,” Bucky grumbled offering his lover a glare. He rinsed the soap from the now cleansed wound and relaxed visibly, seeing how shallow the injury truly was “Okay, not gonna pull a Houdini on me at least,” Bucky murmured then patted the wound dry. He put some medicine on the wound then wrapped it lightly.

Steve leaned over to brush his lips against Bucky’s temple, “Thank you, Baby.” 

“Yeah, any time, doll, long as it’s minor. Don’t want you getting hurt any worse than this, ever.” Bucky put away the first aid supplies, shut off the still running water, and cleaned up the rest of the mess, not meeting Steve’s eyes.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” Steve asked, stepping away slightly so he could fully look at his boyfriend.

“They didn’t get Rumlow, Steve. Only the sniper got it, but Fisk walked out and Rumlow never even showed up.” He turned and walked out of the bedroom and over to his dresser, opening a drawer.

“We’ll catch ‘im,” Steve said, following Bucky into the bedroom. “Fisk is not gonna get away with all the evidence that we got on him. Rumlow won’t be far behind.”

Sighing, Bucky nodded and pulled out a pair of silk boxers, placing them on the bureau. He delved back into the dresser drawer. “You’re tired . . .”

That statement seemed to bring back Steve’s exhaustion, but he shook his head, “I’ll stay up for as long as you want, Buck.”

“Why?” Bucky pulled out an undershirt to place with the boxers and shut the drawer, opening another slowly. “You’ve been through a rough evening, been hurt, and had to deal with a sniper asshole. Why stay up?”

“Because I love you. And if you need me to stay up with you, I will. You haven’t exactly had an easy night yourself, Baby.” 

Sounding slightly puzzled, Bucky turned and looked at Steve, tilting his head. “Why do you think I need to stay up?”

“Not saying you need to. Just saying that if you are . . . that I’ll stay up with you. Honestly I’m hoping we can just cuddle and see where that takes us.” Steve chuckled.

“You want to cuddle but stay awake?” Bucky looked confused now,hiding a yawn behind one hand. “Want a shower or just the bed, Steve?” He carried the boxers and undershirt over to his boyfriend and held them out.

Steve took the items and laughed slightly. “No I just want to cuddle. Of course I’m covered in God knows what . . . so a shower is probably best.”

“No, I think you need to get in the bed in your room,” Bucky said softly and took the under clothes back from Steve with an equally soft frown. “Go, lay down.”

Steve frowned . . . how did he manage to screw this one up? The detective didn’t want to push Bucky into sleeping in the same bed so he settled with simply nodding.

Putting the clothing on his bureau, Bucky walked into the connected bathroom and opened the linen closet to root through and find a basin. He put a couple of wash clothes in the basin and added a small bottle of liquid soap, a folded towel, and a razor and shaving cream. Tilting his head, Bucky then added a second towel and stood with the basin, walking back into his own room to add the underclothes to the basin.

“Thanks for patching me up,” Steve murmured. 

“Bed, Captain,” Bucky ordered lightly, pointing towards Steve’s room. “I told you, I have a schedule and you’re next.” He turned back to his own room with the basin.

Steve quirked an eyebrow at the title and shook his head, “Don’t think I’m following, Sergeant. I’m next for what?”

Bucky turned his head and mischief danced in his pale blue eyes, though he didn’t smile. “For your bed bath. No go or I’ll call the head medic.” And Bucky disappeared into his room completely.

Steve’s mouth dropped open slightly, but the blond didn’t argue anymore. He turned on his heel and walked into his room, making sure to turn on the light on the desk as he passed. The detective sank on the bed and began to take off his shoes. He undid his belt and slipped out of his pants. Steve didn’t take off his boxers; he’d wait until Bucky told him to. 

After several long minutes to give Steve the chance to get ready, Bucky showed up in the doorway. He put most of the objects on the nightstand then went into the bathroom. After a moment he came back with hot water in the basin. With a soft smile, Bucky said “Hello, Captain Rogers. I’m Sergeant Barnes. I’m your nurse, and your chart says you need a bed bath and deep massage. If you’re too tired, we can skip it.”

A jolt of pleasure went down Steve’s spine and straight into his groin. The detective smiled widely and leaned forward to kiss Bucky’s lips. “Well, Sergeant Barnes . . . let’s get started.”

“Captain, I’ve been warned you’re over affectionate and have been warned that you need to control that or you’ll never get better. Nymphomania is a serious condition. Try to control yourself or I’ll have to punish you.” Bucky reached over to wet a cloth.

Suddenly, Steve didn’t feel exhausted in the least.


	12. One Too Many

The next morning Steve woke to the sun shining through the glass and his arm wrapped around Bucky as the smaller brunet curled in close to his side. Slowly, the detective got up off the bed, careful to avoid waking his lover, and stood up, stretching his arms overhead. The blond shuffled over to his closet and mindlessly picked out a pair of sweats and a shirt to throw on. Steve quietly left the room, making sure to leave the bedroom door slightly ajar so Bucky could hear the voices from the common room when he woke up.

Steve made his way into the kitchen for a cup of coffee and saw Tony, sitting at the breakfast bar looking intently at his tablet, Matt and Sam, who both stood in the kitchen, cups of steaming coffee in their hands, and Foggy, sitting on the couch. Steve winced slightly at the sight of a large bump on the young lawyer’s forehead and a the ring of dark purple that adorned his left eye.

Tony grinned up at Steve and smirked into his coffee. “So, how’s the patient feeling this morning?”

Shrugging his shoulders as he poured himself a cup of coffee, and trying to ignore the blush that crept up his neck, Steve answered, “He’s fine. Still asleep.”

With a snort, Tony said “if I recall, you were the patient . . . phone exploded.” Tony grinned up at Steve, his eyes dancing in laughter.

Matt tilted his head and spoke with a knowing smirk, “And if anything I heard from last night is to go by . . . I would agree with Mr. Stark. I thought you were the patient . . . at least that’s what Mr. Barnes kept referring to you as.”

Foggy couldn’t help a snicker then winced as pain lashed down his bruised cheek. “Maybe the doors need to be thicker or something,” he muttered, but he, too, looked amused at the by play.

Steve knew his whole face must have been beet red by then and he took a long sip of his coffee.

Sam looked up. “So, what’s the plan today?” he tried to get the conversation back on track - - they had to catch Fisk and Rumlow still. “Who was the witness Rumlow was supposed to be taking down last night?”

Thankful for the change in subject, Steve shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t have the slightest clue who the sniper was talking about . . . the only witnesses left are Clint and Bucky . . . both whom are safe.”

“At least I think I’m safe,” Clint added as he strolled into the room. “But living at Tony’s could be a hazard in itself.” He poured himself some coffee.

“I know Wade and Bucky have their weekly trip to the range today . . . while they’re gone we could go over the museum footage . . . start building a bigger case against Fisk. Then we’ll be able to focus solely on Rumlow,” Steve said, even though he wanted to focus on Rumlow now, but they needed to get Fisk off the streets; maybe Fisk could led them to his employee.

Sinking onto a chair, Clint nodded. “Parker got some great footage, believe it or not. First a lot of still shots, but he actually got some footage after the chaos erupted.” Looking up, the ex-cop suddenly grinned. “He got beautiful footage of Foggy being slammed into a display case by Fisk.”

Foggy groaned. “Hey blindsided me. I was trying to help the Commissioner’s wife,” he flushed, “uh . . . widow.”

“I wish I would have been there. I could have stopped him before he got to you.” Matt growled, his eyes narrowing.

With a role of his eyes, the blond attorney said, “but you wandered off on your own, like always and then all hell broke loose, like always. I’m just glad you were safe on the second floor.”

“Heard crying . . . had to make sure whoever was up there was okay,” Matt answered before taking a drink from his mug.

Clint snorted and ran a hand through his short blond hair. “Not so safe up there, actually. That’s where me and that sniper were.”

Glancing between Matt and Clint, Steve face contorted in thought. The detective remembered Bucky saying that the blind lawyer had a really good sense of hearing; he couldn’t help but wonder if Matt had been trying to find the sniper on his own.

Sam cleared his throat. “So, everyone to the computer room to . . .”

Bucky’s sleepy voice interrupted them. “What’re we going into the computer room for?” The brunet reporter padded over to take Steve’s cup from him, taking a drink and smiling softly at his lover, blue-grey eyes calm and relaxed and just a bit sleepy still.

Kissing his boyfriend’s temple, Steve answered, “We are going to go over the footage of the museum from last night. You and Wade are going to be going to the range.”

“Yeah,” Bucky snickered, “I know what I’m doing today. I was just curious about your day now that you’ve gotten part of the trifecta.” Bucky slid onto Steve’s lap and began to pour a second cup of coffee.

Wade walked into the living room, a tired looking Peter trailing close behind; the mercenary smiled at the group that had gathered in the common area. “Good morning everyone! That was some party last night, wasn’t it?”

Peter broke off from Wade’s shadow and slipped into a chair, reaching for the egg platter to serve himself. He smiled, his large brown eyes tired. “It was something, all right,” he said.

“I’m just glad none of our group got hurt,” Steve began but his eyes flickered to where Foggy sat on the couch, “Well, not seriously anyway.”

Reaching for the egg plate after Peter put it down, Bucky snorted. “Last night Sam said Foggy ran into a pillar.” He glanced over at Sam who looked into his coffee, muttering under his breath. With a small snicker, Bucky served both he and Steve eggs then reached for bacon to add to their solo plate. His appetite seemed in full force at the moment. “I hear it was a direct assault by a certain . . . grey whale was it?”

Nodding and wincing again, Foggy breathed, “yeah, He slammed right into me and I hit a large covered table of Egyptian jewelry. I’m not sure if he was just mad at me or was trying to get by. I look forward to Parker’s footage if he caught that on tape.”

Plopping down in the seat next to Peter, Wade began to load his plate full of the breakfast foods. “When are you gonna start servin’ chimichangas, Stark? They are the best foods to start the day with . . . really get the blood flowing.”

With a short laugh, Tony shrugged. “If you don’t like what’s on the table, you know where the penthouse kitchen is Wade. I’m not stopping you from going hog wild . . . even if your appointment is in half an hour.”

Cursing under his breath, Wade began to shovel food into his mouth, not wanting to miss out on the good meal.

Bucky picked up the fork from the empty setting next to Steve’s chair and began eating from Steve’s now filled plate, seeming unconcerned that he still perched on his lover’s lap. “I’m thinking on adding in a handgun to the practice, Wade . . . now my hand’s steadier I wanna learn all of them with my right as well as the left.”

Steve smiled and kissed the back of the journalist’s neck, letting his lips linger on the soft skin for a few long moments.

A smile flittered over Bucky’s pretty face at Steve’s kiss. “What’s that for?” he asked softly but continued to eat.

“Do I need a reason to kiss my amazing, beautiful boyfriend?” Steve murmured quietly.

“Oh, good answer, Stevie,” Bucky laughed then slid off his boyfriend’s lap. He hadn’t eaten much, but it certainly was more than the random one egg a day, and that had just been one meal this time. “Gotta go. See you later, love,” Bucky kissed Steve’s forehead. He grinned over at Wade, busily stuffing his face, “see you at the elevator, Wade.” And the reporter headed back to his room to get dressed for the day.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Wade answered, his voice slightly muffled with his mouth full of food.

“Not yet,” Tony smirked but didn’t clarify, especially when Sharon smacked his head lightly from behind, murmuring “manners!”

“Hear that, Baby-Boy? Stark is making inappropriate innuendos,” the mercenary winked at the journalist and stood up.

Brown eyes widening even more, Peter turned his attention from his food to his host and frowned. “Not joining us no matter how you beg, Stark,” he dared teased, much to the amusement of those around the table, Tony especially. Peter flushed and ducked his head.

Wade laughed and offered Peter one last wink before jogging over to the elevator to catch up with Bucky.

The taller reporter stepped from his room dressed in loose sweatpants and a dark maroon henley. He grinned at Wade. “Perfect timing, as always, Private.”

“Can’t disappoint my Sergeant,” Wade grinned as he hit the call button for the elevator. When the doors slid open, the scarred man stepped inside.

Bucky followed, spun around on his heel and raised a hand to the room at large. “Don’t wait up, kiddies.” The door shut on his smiling face.

The two men exited the elevator and walked into the garage where Happy already stood by Wade’s car. Bucky grinned at his old friend and fellow ex-soldier. “So, do you think Fred’ll have heard about last night’s party fiasco yet?” He slid into the passenger seat of the car, as Wade got into the driver’s seat, with a nod to Happy.

Putting the car in drive, Wade laughed, “I’m surprised I haven’t gotten a call from him yet. Fred watches the news pretty much nonstop. He’s a big fan of your work by the way. Used to always read your articles first.”

With a flush of pleasure, Bucky grinned at Wade. “Well, did he see the one I put out about his range? It woulda shown up in yesterday’s morning edition if Smith kept his word.”

Wade shrugged as he pulled out of the garage, “Like I said, haven’t heard from him in a fews days. I was expecting a call last night after everything happened . . . but we’ll just have to ask him when we get there.”

Nodding, the brunet glanced out the window. After a moment of watching blurred cityscape pass by, Bucky asked softly, “Wade, who do you think that guy was that shot up the Gala? Was he really the same one who got McCoy and tried for Fury?” Bucky turned to look at his heavily scarred friend.

Eyes turning to look at Bucky before returning his gaze to the road, Wade shrugged, “Hard to say right now, Sarge. But it looks like it. Professional hitman actually isn’t that common of a job, especially one that will agree to hitting two targets in the same area so close to one another. The risk of getting caught grows the longer you stay in a single area.”

“Who do you think was his target last night? Was it really Steve or just anyone who passed in range? Why take out the commissioner, who was in Fisk’s pocket?” Bucky ran his right hand through his gelled hair and frowned in concentration, trying to piece together this puzzle now his mind was so much clearer.

Wade pulled into the empty parking lot, aside of Fred’s old pickup, and parked the car before turning to look at his friend. “He shot at Steve first. I think Steve was the target, but when he missed, the guy got pissed and just started taking out whoever he could.”

“Stephanie didn’t deserve to die, Wade,” Bucky said softly, though he felt personally relieved that Steve must have moved at the last second and made the sniper miss the shot. That phone would have been close to Steve’s ear . . . a deadly shot if the guy hadn’t panicked and given himself away by going ballistic. Shaking himself, Bucky looked out the window as he released his belt. “So, when are you going to stop renting the entire place for me and see if I can handle my weapon among other shooters?” he asked lightly.

“As soon as you give me the go ahead to do so. I’m not about to do something like that without your consent first, Sarge.” Wade answered.

With a smile for Wade, Bucky nodded. “I’ll let you know.” He slipped out of the car and waited while Wade got the guns; Bucky made it a policy to never touch a man’s guns unless invited . . . or in a life and death situation. A man’s guns were . . . personal in the ex-sniper’s opinion. Softly as Wade stepped up next to him, Bucky asked “so, are you and Peter a couple?”

Laughing loudly as he turned his head to look at the journalist as they made their way to the front door, Wade said, “I don’t know, man. The kid’s so shy . . . I don’t wanna pressure him into anything. Plus . . . he’s . . . well he ain’t like me.”

Lifting his brow, stopping in front of the door, Bucky turned to Wade. “Not like you? Wade, being opposites made you more compatible than anyone else. You’ll have plenty to learn about each other and explore. No quick boredom or staleness there.”

Wade shrugged his shoulders and kicked a small rock, “Well I mean . . . he’s so . . . pretty, ya know? And I’m . . . “ The mercenary took a deep breath, “And I’m not.”

Slipping a hand to Wade’s shoulder, Bucky said “I think he likes soldiers, Wade, and you are more soldier than anyone else we know. I see him watching you, studying you . . . I’ll bet he has a lot of questions about those scars.” He grinned suddenly at the other man, “and I’ve never seen an ounce of disgust in his big beautiful doe eyes . . .”

Smiling at his friend, Wade asked “Ya think so? You think there might be a chance for us?”

“I’m positive there’s a chance, Wade. Hell, he practically drools when he follows you around,” Bucky laughed, reaching to open the door. With a frown, he pulled again. “Huh, is the place locked up? Something won’t give.”

Eyes narrowing, Wade reached for the door and pulled, and sure enough the door was locked. Reaching into his pocket, the mercenary pulled out his keys and used the spare key Fred had given him over a year ago, but until that moment, he’d never had any reason to use it.

Reaching out a shaking hand, Bucky touched Wade’s shoulder. “Give me a gun,” he whispered, instincts roaring until he nearly couldn’t hear the sound of traffic behind them.

Without questioning, Wade reached into his duffel and pulled out the first gun his hand came into contact with; a small handgun. After handing the weapon over to the ex-sniper, Wade unlocked the door and slowly opened it, flinching slightly at the loud noise the door made.

Bucky checked the gun and looked at Wade. “Need some bullets, Private,” but he stopped his words at what he saw. “Jesus Christ!” Bucky staggered slightly.

“Fred!” Wade shouted and ran over to the bloodied body; he had dropped his bag of weapons near where Bucky stood. 

Training long imbedded into instinct took over at the blood and bone strewn everywhere. He fell into a crouch and called “down, Private!” Sliding into the place, Bucky didn’t even touch the lights, his fear pushed down with his emotions. He surveyed the large room and followed the obvious path of the bullets that had left Fred’s corpse barely recognizable . . . though the part of his face that remained made identification immediate. WIthout a word, with barely any sound, Bucky slid into the shadows of the warehouse, only checking once behind to make sure the wide door remained open . . . a small concession to his ongoing fear of the dark and enclosed spaces.

Wade crouched down next to the body and his fingers quickly found their way to the old man’s neck, desperately checking for a pulse. “Fred! C’mon buddy! We’re gonna get you help . . . just hold on!” The mercenary began to perform CPR, although deep down, Wade knew it wasn’t going to help.

Making his way stealthily to the night ranges, Bucky slammed his foot into the case holding the night vision goggles and rolled back down onto the floor as the crash of glass echoed through the empty building. He waited until the count of twelve before snaking his left hand up and grabbing two pair. One he slid on immediately, the other he tucked into his waistband to pass off to Wade if he got a chance. The sight of that congealed blood and dried brain matter marked the crime as from the night before, but Bucky wasn’t taking chances that someone might be hiding in the obstacle course or night ranges or storerooms, waiting to pick off more people. And those X’s carved on Fred’s eyes let Bucky know exactly who he was looking for.

Continuing CPR, Wade had already felt a couple of Fred’s ribs break, but the mercenary didn’t want to give up on his friend. “C’mon, Fred! Dammit! Fuck, c’mon!”

Finally having made his cautious way around the large perimeter and long corridors, Bucky slid into Fred’s office. Making sure the small room was secure, Bucky headed to the phone, relieved the line appeared to be untouched. He took out his own cellphone, not touching the landline anyway. Autodialing Steve, Bucky took a couple of soft, steadying breaths. He had no doubt the murderer would have thought of staying behind to hurt more civilians; he was that kind of bastard.

When he heard the sound of his lover on the other side of the connection, Bucky let out a calm breath and whispered, “dead. Crossed eyes.” Then he hung up, not wanting to risk being overheard or caught off guard. Instead, Bucky looked back out of the office and frowned to see Wade, defenseless, trying to revive Fred’s corpse. Damn! The former sniper fell into a protective watch, keeping his attention loose but his focus on protecting Wade; he prayed that Steve had understood the message and got them help soon . . . and that the killer had chosen to leave the night before rather than remain as Bucky feared.

**********

“Dead. Crossed eyes,” Bucky whispered and then hung up. Steve’s eyes widened and his whole body tensed.

“Shit! We got to get to the range . . . now!” Steve ordered as he stood up from the table and made his way to the elevator.

Sam set down his cup next to his near empty plate, frowning. Wade and Bucky had been gone only ten minutes. Those in the tower hadn't even gotten a chance to have their review of the night before. The detective shot to his feet, though, trusting his partner’s judgement. He sprinted to the elevator, followed by Clint.

“Jarvis! Call the police . . . tell them there has been a murder at the range!” Steve stated and stepped into the elevator as soon as the doors opened wide enough.

“Shit!” Sam called upon hearing Steve’s words. He hid the button to send the elevator to the garage.

Clint held the door open. “Nat? Coming?” he called, knowing she’d never forgive any of them if they forbid her a second chance in this investigation . . . her case by Bucky’s request. “Sharon?”

Nat and Sharon clipped on their pistols and ran to the elevator, Nat barely squeezing through the closing doors.

JARVIS alerted the police to the situation as Tony frowned and headed immediately into the computer room. “Jarvis! Send Happy to go get Barnes! Take Riley, but keep him safe!”

In the garage, Happy stepped up to an SUV and gestured to another, already running. “We can take these . . . they’re bulletproof. Where’s Riley? Jarvis said he’s coming with?”

The second set of elevator doors opened and both Sharon and Riley stepped out and joined the group entering the SUV’s. As soon as the doors closed, Riley asked, “What’s going on Steve? What did Bucky say?”

Sam slid into the one SUV, signalling Steve behind the wheel as Happy opened the passenger side door of the other SUV for Sharon. Clint got behind Sharon, sliding over to make room for Nat so Riley could go with Sam and Steve.

“Said someone was dead. Crossed eyes. That’s Rumlow,” Steve shot back.

“Damn!” Sam reached back to open the door behind him for Riley. “And Bucky and Wade are there? Glad you’re here, Riley . . . Bucky’s gonna lose it!”

Steve growled as he put the car into drive and peeled out of the garage, the tires squealing loudly. “He sounded calm.” Steve answered Sam, “Didn’t even sound distracted.”

With a shake of his head, Sam eyed Steve. “He got real in control when he fugued back into soldier, Steve.”

“Didn’t sound like a fugue state, Sam. His voice was colder . . . he sounded like himself just now.” Steve muttered, his jaw clenching.

“Riley,” Sam called to the back, “I want you to stay down until we clear the place. Steve, think we can get some weapons from Wade?” He gestured to the turn so Steve wouldn’t miss it in his high alert state.

Taking the turn sharply, Steve shook his head, “I don’t know! I don’t know where Wade is. Bucky didn’t say anything . . . for all I know the person who's dead is Wade.”

“Shit!” Sam swore loudly, thankful Peter had been in the bathroom when the call had come in. No way did they need the kid sneaking along on this. “Right there, Steve. That’s Wade’s car next to the truck.”

Steve pulled into the parking lot and stopped the SUV abruptly; the blond detective quickly got out of the car and began to jog up to Wade’s car.

Sam turned again to Riley. “Stay down, Riley. We don’t need you hurt, too.” And the detective slid from the SUV to follow Steve, noting the door of the warehouse stood wide open, Wade busy trying to perform CPR on someone bloody lying on the floor. He didn’t see Bucky, and hoped that wasn’t who lay there. A large duffle bag, open and spilling weapons, lay on its side beside the body.

The other SUV joined them and Clint slid from the back seat, gesturing silently to Happy then to the other SUV where Riley hid. Happy trotted over to protect Riley, pulling his revolver and watching warily.

Steve reached to his waistband and cursed under his breath when he remember he didn’t have a weapon. The blond detective looked to his partner, before cautiously stepping into the dark warehouse.

Sam followed, aware of Sharon and Nat, both armed, and Clint, unarmed, behind him. He signaled them to fan out and then to the duffle of weapons. Quietly, Sam sank to a knee beside Wade. “Wade? Who is it?” He reached into the duffle for a gun and ammo, passing them to Steve then Clint without asking permission.

Taking the gun and ammo, Steve quickly loaded the gun and looked at the body by his feet. The detective tried to find Bucky, but he knew that if Bucky didn’t want to be found, it’d be near impossible to do so.

Wade stopped suddenly at the sound of Sam’s voice and then his shoulders sagged in defeat. “Fred . . . it’s Fred.”

“Where’s Bucky?” asked Sam softly, pulling out a weapon and ammo, quickly loading the small semi-automatic he’d grabbed. He glanced around the warehouse.

“Bucky?” Wade blinked a few times, “Bucky!” The mercenary shot to his feet.

Sam reached out just as quickly and yanked Wade back down to the ground. “We aren’t clear, brother,” he told the other man named Wilson.

“Fuck!” Wade ground out.

From Fed’s office, a small object rolled out into the hall. It was a soda can with a piece of paper wrapped around it. Clint held up a silent hand and nodded towards the office, glancing over at Nat. He then pointed at Steve and then to the obstacle range. Gesturing again, he directed Sharon to the night ranges and Sam to long distance. Clint himself sank next to Wade and whispered, practically in the man’s ear, “any _thign_ of the enemy?” He deliberately lipsed the _‘s’_ in sign.

Swallowing hard, eyes not leaving the body in front of him, Wade shook his head to answer Clint’s question.

Making her way to the office, arm holding her pistol steadily in front of her, Natasha peered inside. The room was dark, but the slight gleam of night vision goggles caught her eye. “Bucky?” she whispered, “Bucky . . . you in here?”

“Hurry up,” he whispered back from behind the desk.

Breathing a small sigh of relief upon hearing her friend’s voice, Nat made her way over to the desk and silently crouched down next to Bucky.

With a nod, Bucky offered the second pair of night vision goggles. “Clear in here. Night range clear, too.” He sounded calm and steady, not the same tone he’d used when he had his flashbacks. He looked towards her. “Fred dead,” he whispered; like Clint he avoided the very easily overhead ‘s’ sound. “Wade not viable.”

Taking the goggles with a firm nod, the redhead slipped them on and asked, “Rumlow?”

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t know.” He faced her and sighed. “Hit Fred at night.” His voice shook a bit on that; Fred had been a fast friend. “Who here?” He’d heard Steve and Sam, but wasn’t sure who else had come.

“Fred had been the witness.” Natasha murmured almost to herself.

The reporter nodded in the dark office, knowing what she meant, regretting that the old man had been pulled into this crazy urban war. “Knew the killer?” he supposed out loud. “We turn on light now?” he asked, gesturing to the corridor beyond their secure location.

Natasha nodded pulling the goggles off her face, “Yeah.”

With a soft sigh of relief, Bucky pulled the goggles from his eyes so he wouldn’t be blinded when they threw the large lighting switches for the main rooms. He slipped from behind the desk and grabbed for the main switch. “Three, two, one,” he counted for her benefit, then threw the large switch into the on position followed by the two smaller switches for the night range and obstacle course.

The entire warehouse lit bright as sunlight, temporarily blinding anyone who’d been in the darker parts and seriously hurting anyone still wearing night vision goggles. Bucky put his right hand to his eyes and rubbed, keeping his back pressed to the office wall beside the door. He still had the unloaded pistol in his left hand.

“You okay, James?” Natasha asked, her tone laced with concern.

“Yeah,” he looked up, blinking several times to get the light daze and the tears from his vision. “Wade’s compromised. I watched over him, but then you guys showed so I backed off.” He shuddered.

“Clint’s with him now.” Natasha offered.

“God, I hope the kid didn’t tag along with you guys,” Bucky whispered.

The FBI agent shook her head, “No . . . luckily he chose to use the restroom just as you called Steve.”

With a nod, the brunet looked at his best friend. “Fucking Rumlow! I swear, I’m gonna kill that bastard! I don’t think it was just because Fred might have seen something . . . my article about Fred came out yesterday . . . with my fucking name on it!” He growled low. “I made him a fuckin target!”

“Don’t start blaming yourself, James.” Natasha shook her head, “None of this is your fault. Rumlow is a psychopath.”

“It’s never my fault, is it? But things always seem to happen around me . . . to my friends.” He sighed and slammed his head backwards on the wall of the office. “God, I hate being a target all the time! What, is there a bullseye on my foreh . . . my god! It was that guy! He was the sniper wasn’t he?” He turned wide pale blue eyes on Nat.

Out in the main warehouse, Sam left the long distance ranges, satisfied they were clear . . . specially since the sudden light had made it evident he was alone in there. He signaled to Sharon at the night range that all was clear, but never said a word, keeping an ear out in case someone called for help. He had no idea why Nat would have thrown on the lights, but he let it go for the moment.

Steve hurried out of the obstacle course, the sudden light still causing dots to spot his vision. The blond detective signaled to Clint that the area was clear as he made his way to where Wade and Clint still crouched next to Fred’s body.

Beside Wade and Fred, Clint reached out and touched Wade’s arm. “Outside, Wade . . . we gotta get him outside.” Since the lights came on, he’d dropped the lisp, certain they were not under threat after all. Clint slipped the loaded semi into his waistband, not the safest place for a gun, but he hoped the safety would hold. He slid his arms under Fred’s waist and looked to the mercenary again. “Get his shoulders, Wade.” Fuck police protocol. If they really were still under threat, the only way to get Wade from the building would be to move Fred, too . . . and that was the excuse he’d tell the cops when they finally deigned to show their slow asses.

Nodding, Wade numbly followed the orders and a sick feeling of dread sank into his gut as Fred’s limp body sagged between Clint and himself. Slowly, the two men shuffled out of the warehouse.

Steve’s eyes focused on the dried pool of blood, smeared from where Wade had been kneeling while he’d performed CPR. The detective slowly walked over to the small office where Nat had gone; he saw the FBI agent crouching next to the desk. “Any sign of Bucky?” Steve asked, his voice trembling slightly, no one had seen the brunet since they’d arrived.

“Right here, Stevie,” Bucky spoke quietly from his spot by the door. He stepped out to the doorway, running his right hand over his eyes again, trying to dispel the tears of frustration, anger, and grief.

Closing the distance between himself and his lover, Steve cautiously wrapped his arms around Bucky. He didn’t want to trigger a reaction, just in case Sam had been right and the journalist was experiencing a fugue state.

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve and sagged into him, empty gun still held in his left hand. “It was Rumlow,” he sobbed suddenly, “Fred was the target.”

Embracing Bucky tighter, Steve kissed the spot right above the brunet’s ear. “I know . . . I was so scared, Bucky.”

“Sorry,” Bucky lifted his face, wiping at his tears again. “The place was dark and I didn’t know if he was still here. I hadn’t cleared much yet, so I said as little as possible. I didn’t want him to find me again.” Bucky pressed his forehead to Steve’s chest. “I think I saw the sniper here a couple of weeks ago, Steve. A guy with a bullseye tattooed on his head like some sort of freak.”

“Wade and Peter told us the same thing last night. I’m so sorry, baby. We had no idea that Fred could’ve been a target. If we had . . .” Steve sighed, “I’m sorry. I know he meant a lot to you.”

“I wrote about him . . . it hit the paper yesterday,” Bucky said. “He was a good man. Wade’s lost it I think. He’ll need help. Fred was the one who helped Wade after the war.” Bucky continued to keep his forehead to Steve’s chest, breathing slowly.

“Clint’s with him now . . . we’re trying to get him separated . . . from the body. He’s in shock.” Steve reported as he began to rub soothing circle on the small of Bucky’s back.

Bucky nodded and pushed back from Steve. “I got this,” he breathed and straightened up. Walking slowly from the office, Bucky headed out the doors of the warehouse just as police and ambulance sirens filled the air. The ex-soldier ignored the chaos and strode over to Clint, Wade, and Fred. He laid a hand on Wade’s shoulder. “Let him rest, Soldier,” he said softly.

Wade looked up from where he knelt next to the body, tears shining in his eyes. His lip trembled and he looked down at the bloodied body again.

“Let him go, Wilson. He earned it.” Bucky crouched next to his former private. “It’s time for him to go home.”

Letting out a loud cry, Wade nodded and shakily stood. The mercenary turned away from the body, not daring to look back.

Nodding, Bucky stood and wrapped his arms around Wade, holding him tightly. “Grief makes us stronger, Wade. Go ahead and grieve for him,” he whispered something Riley had taught him in the beginning.

Wade clenched his jaw before softly pushing Bucky away, “I gotta go . . . I can’t be here right now.”

Behind Wade’s back, Bucky signaled to Riley in the SUV. “I can see to Fred, if you really have to go, Wade. Do me a favor? Go to the tower? I want to know you’re safe.” He looked at the gun still gripped in his metallic hand. “I’ll get your stuff together for you. Just take the car and drive safe.”

Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, “it doesn’t matter now,” Wade snapped.

“Doesn’t matter?” Bucky looked shocked. “It matters to me. I care about you . . . you’re my oldest friend, Wade. I don’t want to lose you!” He tried to make the grieving man understand his worth.

“Keep the bag,” Wade grumbled before storming away, not turning to look back at his friend.

The police swarmed the area just as Wade drove off.

**********

Unable to get anything out of Tony about where most of everyone had disappeared to in the short time he’s been in the bathroom, Peter frowned and headed towards the room he had been given. He glanced into the bathroom he shared with Wade, but decided he’d shave later. Instead, he merely sank onto the beanbag chair near his desk, pulling over a watch he’d been trying to change into a sort of silk-shooting gun.

As soon as the elevator door opened, Wade stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door. Once inside the mercenary swiped his arm across the dresser, knocking down the items that laid on the surface. He grabbed the vase near the door and hurled it at the opposite wall; it shattered upon impact.

Hearing the commotion beyond the bathroom, Peter frowned and put his gadget down. He rose and strode into the shared commode, asking through the door, “Wade? That you?” At the crash, Peter slammed the door open, brown eyes wide. “Wade?” He took in the chaos of Wade’s room, worse than his normal slovenly decor.

“Fuck!” Wade screamed, not noticing that Peter had entered his room.

“Wade?” Peter barely whispered, worried at the violence in the normally happy-go-lucky man. He stepped into the room and dodged something the mercenary threw blindly in his general direction. “Wade!” he called louder.

Red-rimmed eyes snapping to the voice, Wade’s eyes widened at the sight of the lanky journalist. “Peter . . .” The mercenary let out a loud sob, and he collapsed to the floor.

Rushing to Wade’s side, Peter knelt down and slipped an arm around the large man. He wasn’t sure what to do for the normally strong man, his heart catching at the misery he felt in waves from the merc. “Wade? What happened?”

“The fucker killed him! Fred didn’t have nothin’ to do with it!” Wade growled, his words slurring with his anger and grief.

Sliding his other arm around the grieving man, Peter held him close. “Wade,” he felt inadequate in the face of the man’s strong emotions, knowing what he felt because his own uncle Ben had been hurt, but somehow feeling useless.

“I tried . . . I couldn’t do nothin’. I can’t do anything. I shoulda been there!” The mercenary’s words were almost incoherent by then.

Peter caressed one hand to the back of Wade’s neck and simply held him, rocking slightly. “Wade, babe, tell me what I can do? What do you need?” He wanted so bad to erase this strong man’s doubts and tears.

Turning his gaze to the brunet, Wade slowly lifted one of his scarred hands to caress the younger man’s cheek. Slowly the mercenary leaned forward and pressed his lips against Peter’s.

Brown eyes fixed on Wade’s until that kiss, the youth let out one soft whimper and leaned into the kiss. He began to kiss back, pressing their lips together and letting the tip of his tongue run across the seam of Wade’s lips. This was nothing like the nervous explorations he’d shared with Mary Jane or Gwen behind the bleachers back in High School. Something else . . . this was something else, and Peter wanted more . . . so much more.

Opening his mouth slightly to allow Peter’s tongue to deepen the kiss, Wade shifted his body so that he kneeled in front of the brunet. The scarred man lowered his hand so that it rested on the back of Peter’s neck while his other hand snaked around the journalist’s waist and pulled him closer.

Following Wade’s lead, Peter shifted so he could press his body closer to the soldier’s scarred form. He continued to kiss and taste Wade, letting his hands settle on the broad chest but not pushing for more, knowing somehow that the man was too vulnerable, too emotional to begin something. Peter wanted to comfort Wade, not seduce him . . . his own desires would wait. Lifting one hand, Peter caressed over Wade’s cheek pulling away from the kiss enough that their breaths still mingled but he could speak. “Wade, I’m here, babe. I’m here,” he softly said.

Wade leaned forward and leaned his head against the other man’s shoulder, both his arms now wrapping around Peter’s waist. The usually happy mercenary let out another gasping sob as he thought back to Fred’s motionless body, how he’d never be able to talk to his old friend ever again.

After long moments kneeling on the floor and holding the sobbing man in his arms, Peter slowly eased them both to their feet and guided Wade to his bed. He helped the larger man to lie down and once more wrapped into the secure embrace of the mercenary. Kissing Wade softly, Peter pressed his body full form against the other man’s, letting him feel another presence, silently reminding the merc he was not alone . . . not any more.

His sobs subsiding, Wade let out a shuddering breath and pulled Peter close, nuzzling his face in the crook of the brunet’s neck. “I’m sorry . . .” He whispered against the youth’s skin.

“Of course,” Peter crooned, not belittling Wade’s apology, knowing it was probably for Fred and not for Peter. The young journalist would have been surprised if Wade was even aware who lay in bed with him at that moment. Instead, he began to stroke the back of Wade’s neck and kissed his shoulder softly, ignoring the feel and taste of cloth in favor of the action itself. Didn’t actions always speak louder? “Of course, babe. I know you’re sorry. You tried.”

“I tried,” Wade echoed softly, “I tried.”

“Of course you tried. You couldn’t do anything more. But you tried your best. And he knows it,” Peter kissed and stroked, “he knows it, babe.”

“I snapped at Bucky . . . gotta apologize. He was just tryin’ to help,” Wade said, though his words began to slur again.

“After all the times he snapped at you, Bucky knows you didn’t mean it.” Peter moved his hand down to Wade’s shoulder, stroking gently but enough to be felt. “You talk to him tomorrow. Today’s for you . . . for Fred,” he crooned softly, kissing Wade’s clothed shoulder again.

“For Fred . . .” Wade muttered, “I’ll apologize tomorrow.”

“That’s right, babe. Tomorrow for Bucky. Today for Fred. Tell me about Fred, babe. Tell me about his eyes and laugh.” Peter stroked again, softly, as a mother for a grieving child, as a lover.

“First time we met, he smacked me. Told me to knock it off and get back to it. He didn’t give up on me. He wasn’t disgusted by me. He was my friend. He took me out to dinner that night . . . we stayed there all night. Just talkin’. He asked about my time in the military . . . he didn’t ask about my scars . . . he asked about my unit. My old friends. He cared about me . . . not the way I looked.”

Slowly, as Wade spoke, Peter eased off the dirty, blood smeared shirt and let it drop to the floor. He kept caressing Wade softly, gently, listening but not speaking. Between moves, Peter spread gentle kisses on Wade’s neck and shoulder, but didn’t press for more. He let Wade know he was there, but this was about Wade, not Peter. Finally, Peter unfastened Wade’s pants and got them off the man as he spoke about his lost friend. Letting those drop to the floor as well, Peter settled against the bigger man, caressing, kissing, and simply being there for him. He kept his hands above the waist, and his kisses at the shoulder level.

“I helped keep his range goin’. He didn’t charge a lot of the vets that walked in through the door. He wanted to help people, he wanted to make a difference in people’s lives. I don’t know if I’d be here right now without him. I was in a real dark place when I got out . . . the only person I had was Bucky . . . but when he got hurt . . . well I didn’t have anybody. Then I went to the range. Fred didn’t judge me or nothin’,” Wade muttered his voice slightly shaky from the memory.

“Wade, babe? Maybe you can help Fred back?” Peter let his hand caress carefully over Wade’s chest. His voice remained gentle, soft, but no sign of his typical shy confusion showed.

“How?” Wade asked, his voice pained.

Peter slid a hand under the other man’s chin and lifted his face, meeting his eyes. “By running the range the way he would have wanted it run. You can keep helping people like Fred did. It’s the best way to honor his memory . . . by helping.”

Propping himself up on his forearms, Wade looked at Peter with intense eyes. “Run the range? I ain’t smart enough to run a business. The doors would be closed within a month. I’d ruin it.”

With a soft frown, Peter asked, “Didn’t Fred help Bucky, too? Maybe he can help? Did you read his article . . . he came up with a great bunch of ideas to help out Fred.” Peter stroked his hand down Wade’s shoulder, watching the man intently with his big brown eyes.

“Bucky?” Wade trailed off, “Bucky . . . could help. He’s smart enough for the business side. I - - I could do lessons or somethin’.”

Nodding, Peter confirmed, “Bucky can run the business end and you can monitor the guns. Both of you can help vets and other victims get back on their feet.” He leaned over and kissed Wade’s shoulder. “And if Bucky can’t do it, I can help. Aunt May asked what major I want in college. I hadn’t decided yet, but I could go into business . . .”

“You like science, though.” Wade frowned.

“I like helping people just as much, Wade,” Peter said. “I can do a double major. I’ve got the brains for it. And I would love to help out . . . make Aunt May proud, too.”

“I’m sure you make her proud every single day, Baby-Boy.” Wade caressed the younger man’s cheek with the rough pad of his thumb.

A soft smile crossed Peter’s face and he ducked his head, suddenly shy once more. “I haven’t done much to make her proud, though. Basically, the Fisk story was my first big thing.” He raised his eyes to meet Wade’s. “Did Fisk do this to Fred? Are we gonna take him down?”

Eyes hardening and fists clenching at his sides, Wade clenched his jaw, “Fisk is part of the problem. Murdock and Nelson are gonna take care of that bastard in court. No . . . I’m going after Rumlow. He hurt Bucky . . . killed Fred. That asshole is going down. He won’t make it to court, he’s gone.”

Peter nodded in agreement, not arguing Wade’s methods or meanings. Normally he was all about justice, but some justice? Some justice had to be done at street level . . . or the crooks got off on technicalities. “How can I help? What can I do for you, Wade?” The young reporter lifted his brown eyes to meet the mercenary’s equally dark ones.

“You help take down Fisk. Murdock and Nelson are gonna need anything you can get on the bastard, anything that can be done from the safety of the tower. But I am not having you do anything with Rumlow. He already got Bucky once, I would not be able to live with myself if he got his hands on you,” Wade nearly growled a low, almost possessive tone lacing his voice.

Softly, Peter kissed Wade’s shoulder, unable to resist the feel, the flavor of the other man, even though he didn’t seem to need the comfort any more. “I don’t want to be a target. Don’t worry, I’ll go after the mob boss, you go after the hitman.” He smiled slightly at Wade, mouth so close to the other man’s scarred skin, he could feel the heat of Peter’s words.

“You stay in the Tower, ya hear me? Even Murdock and Nelson aren’t leaving unless they absolutely have to,” Wade stated. “Please . . . I need to know that you are safe. I won’t be able to concentrate without knowing that you’re here.”

Surprise laced the journalist’s eyes. “Didn’t I say I was staying?” He tilted his head, laying one hand on Wade’s nude chest. “Of course I’m staying. Look, I wanna take down bad guys as much as you, but I know my limits. I’m not some superhero from a comic book, crawling walls and tying up criminals. I’m just a college guy working as a two-bit reporter.”

Wade gripped Peter’s hand tightly, not hurting the other man. “I need you to promise you won’t leave the tower until Rumlow is caught. This isn’t a joke. All it took was Bucky being distracted once . . . Rumlow is smart. He’s probably watching the Tower.”

The youth looked up at Wade again, a slight frown on his face. “Not even to visit Aunt May, go to classes, or go to the paper?” he asked softly, trying to point out how much hiding away would interfere with daily living. The last three weeks had been like a holiday he couldn’t really afford to continue.

Shaking his head, Wade said, “Look . . . I know it’s gonna be rough. I’ll get Stark to put a protective detail on your Aunt. We’ll figure something out with your school - -”

“Wait!” Peter felt panic begin to rise. “You think Aunt May’s in danger? That me being here may’ve put that guy on her trail? Shit!” Peter started sliding from the bed.

Grabbing Peter with a low growl, “Did you not just hear what I said? Peter this guy went after Fred just because . . . because of an article Bucky wrote and the fact the sniper had been there a few times.”

Rolling his eyes and frowning, Peter tugged his arm. “He didn’t go after Bucky for that article, Wade. The article got held back. It’s supposed to hit tomorrow’s news stand not yesterday. I got to read the finished draft, and it’s good, but Rumlow couldn’t have seen it.” He shook his head. “The sniper saw you guys at the range and probably recognized Bucky. He probably told his buddy, who decided Fred was a witness because this Rumlow asshole is a total nut.”

Knowing that Bucky would be relieved to hear that the attack hadn’t been caused by his article, Wade let out a soft sigh. “Please . . . stay here. We’ll get someone on your Aunt twenty-four-seven. Tony can call up your school . . . make some shit up that’ll get you credits or something. But I can’t lose you too, Peter. Please?”

Blowing out a frustrated breath, causing his dark locks to stir from his forehead, Peter finally sank back onto the bed, legs still over the side. “Fine. I promise to stay in the tower and act like a useless damsel in distress.” He crossed his arms and looked away from the man 

“You’re helping put one of the most dangerous men in all of New York away. I’d hardly call that a damsel in distress, Peter. Matt and Foggy are going to need you.” Wade shifted so that he was fully sitting up, looking at the journalist.

Peter nodded but didn’t say anything. He just sat there, head down, hair falling in front of his eyes, dressed in his pajamas. “Yeah, my pictures are great. But Bucky got all the real research. All I did was snap a camera phone.” He ran his hand through his hair again.

“Bucky’s research is pretty much all hypothetical . . . he could never find a strong enough link between Fisk and Kingpin. That’s why the police were never able to press charges on the bastard.”

Frustrated, looking up, Peter said, “and without leaving the tower I’ll never find any more than he did, you know.”

“Those pictures you got of Fisk attacking Foggy are enough, Baby-Boy. You start diggin’ things get ugly. Unless you want to follow in Bucky’s footsteps.” Wade’s eyes searched the youth’s face, worry etched its way onto the mercenary’s features.

“No, I already told you I don’t want to tangle with the freak.” He sighed. “But I feel useless, too, Wade. I just can’t see how sitting in the tower can help get you the information on Fisk you need. And why even go after the link to Kingpin? The police will never take that mythological beast down. Better to just link Fisk through records to all the things he’s done to people, like to my uncle . . . enough rope, he’ll hang himself on his own evil deeds. He wants to be a public figure, but he’s really not helping the public at all. The sooner everyone sees that, the better.” Peter started to rise again.

Wade threw his hands in the air and shot up off the bed with a growl. “Can you not see I am trying to protect you? Goddammit! First the shit at the Gala with you running around . . . and now . . . I swear you’re trying to give me an ulcer or something! Jesus Christ!”

Peter stood and whirled to face Wade. “We’ve only known each other three weeks. Why do you want to protect me?” He held up a hand. “Never mind. I get it. You feel responsible for the kid.” He said, “for the baby of the bunch.” Shaking his head, Peter headed for their connecting bathroom. “I’ll play good and sit in my room. Don’t worry about me.”

Wade rushed over and grabbed Peter’s bicep, “Because these last three weeks . . . with you . . . have been some of the best moments of my entire life! Because when I look at you . . . my stomach does these weird flips that I can’t explain.”

Peter looked at Wade in surprise. “I’m nothing special,” he murmured.

“Peter . . . you’re everything to me. Look, I know we’ve only known each other for a few weeks . . . I can’t explain why I feel the way I do . . . because I know . . . I know that someone like you could never like someone like me . . . but that doesn’t stop me from feeling the way I do about you.”

“Why wouldn’t I like you? You’re one of the bravest, fun men I’ve ever met. You don’t let things stop you . . . you’re not . . . you . . . and . . . uh . . .” he hung his head, words tangling as ever for the self-conscious youth. Whispering, he said “and so, yeah . . . I love you.” He didn’t meet Wade’s eyes, not even aware he’d said the last bit loud enough to be heard.

Now it was Wade’s turn for his eyes to widen in shock. “You . . . you love me?”

Bright red flared through Peter’s face and his head shot up, obviously he hadn’t meant to be overheard. “Uh . . .” he licked his lips and sighed, miserably. “Yeah,” he let his head hang down again in shame at being caught idolizing the beautiful mercenary . . . it must look like some stupid kid’s crush. He muttered, “have since maybe the second day, when you threatened to throw me off the roof for asking you to play in the heated pool.”

Wade’s hand dropped from Peter’s arm, only to wrap his arms around the brunet’s waist and pull him close. “Fucking Spider-Monkey,” Wade murmured before crashing his lips against the journalist’s.

Confusion gave way to sheer passion and Peter wrapped his arms around Wade’s body, hanging on. He couldn’t figure out what was happening to him, but in Wade’s arms, he didn’t want to question too much. Afraid he’d lose this amazing ex-soldier if he even blinked, Peter merely hung on and kissed back.


	13. Self Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are extreme self-punishments and self-loathing present in this chapter.

After coming back from the gruesome crime scene, Bucky headed straight towards the safety of his bedroom. Steve couldn’t help but notice how withdrawn his lover had been on the way home and in the elevator. The blond followed his boyfriend; however, he made sure to keep some distance between them in case Bucky had another attack. 

Leaving the door wide open, Bucky headed directly towards their shared bathroom, stripping as he walked. His shoulders began to shake just as he got down to his drawers and over to the shower, and Bucky stopped, hugging himself, head hanging down as he trembled all over.

Knocking softly on the door jam, Steve looked into the bathroom and frowned at his boyfriend’s distressed behavior, “Buck? Babe . . . is there anything I can do?” The detective asked, his tone dripping with worry.

Bucky muttered so low his words couldn’t be discerned. He kept his head bowed, still shaking, his metal fingers leaving indentations on his right shoulder, though his right hand left no marks due to the weaker nature of that hand.

Stepping closer, though leaving a few feet between them, Steve swallowed hard, “Buck . . . let go . . . I don’t want ya hurtin’ yourself.”

Surprisingly obedient, Bucky let his hands drop to his sides, but now his body shook harder as if his tight grip had been almost steadying him. A small sob escaped the brunet’s lips. Tired . . . he felt tired . . . and sick. And he felt like his world heaved and swayed. Now that it was all over, Bucky couldn’t find an anchor. Fred had died . . . Rumlow had killed him . . . and that psychopath had found Fred because of him . . . Bucky did this . . . again.

Taking a deep breath, Steve closed the distance between them and cautiously reached out to begin rubbing circles on the small of Bucky’s back. “Sshh . . .” Steve cooed, “It’s gonna be alright, Bucky.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whimpered. Another sob broke loose and the reporter shuddered. “I’m so sorry . . .”

Placing soft kisses into the brunet’s hair, Steve continued to move his hand in the soothing pattern, “You have nothing to be sorry about, Bucky. You didn’t do this.”

Bucky turned and looked at Steve with tear-filled grey-blue eyes. “I killed Fred . . .” He once more hugged himself, not allowing himself to reach out to his lover . . . afraid of hurting yet another person with his fucked up roller coaster life.

“Oh . . . Baby. You didn’t kill Fred.” Steve’s voice sounded pained, and his blue eyes shone with concern. “What happened to Fred wasn’t your fault.”

“Rumlow found him because I wrote about the Range . . .” Bucky explained in his trembling voice. “And he killed him to get us . . . me?” He shook his head. “Is he doing this to still hurt you, Steve, or am I his main focus now?” Suddenly, Bucky threw himself into Steve’s arms, grasping him desperately and burying his face in the large blond’s neck with a whimper. “I’m scared . . . and I don’t know how to stop him anymore. I thought . . . I thought learning to shoot would help, Stevie . . .”

Steve wrapped his arms around his lover and closed his eyes, willing himself to remain calm, he had to be stable for Bucky right now. The detective kissed the journalist’s temple and murmured against the skin, “I know you’re scared . . . we’ll get him, Bucky. Once we arrest Fisk . . . he’ll lead us right to him.” Steve knew he didn’t sound confident, honestly, he had no idea how they were going to catch Rumlow. 

Somehow, despite Steve’s undercurrent of uncertainty, Bucky latched onto the idea his lover presented. “Get Fisk to get to Rumlow.” Drawing a deep breath, the brunet reporter nodded and let his grip relax slightly from the intense clasp he’d had. Now, he simply held on tight, not painfully. “Get Fisk and we’ll get Rumlow,” he repeated. “Yeah, I can help do that. I . . . I can spot things on security footage?” He lifted his face, eyes wide and slightly red from his tears, but determination shining through again.

Pulling away to look down at Bucky, Steve nodded and moved his hand to run it through the brunet’s hair, down to the side of his face, however the journalist ducked away from the blond’s hand and let it fall to rest on his shoulder. Nodding again, Steve pulled away to reach over and start the shower. Fiddling with the knobs until he got the right temperature, Steve looked at Bucky from over his shoulder, “Why don’t you take a shower . . . I’ll be in my room.”

Licking his lips, eyes troubled, Bucky murmured, “you won’t . . . join me?”

Eyebrows raising in surprise, Steve clenched his jaw, trying to read the situation, “Only if you want me too. If you need time alone . . . I understand. I won’t be upset or nothin’,” 

Immediately, Bucky shook his head. “I just . . . I wanna cuddle, if that’s okay, Steve?” He unconsciously hugged himself again, standing in just his boxers. “I wanna get clean . . . and cuddle.” He laughed almost bitterly at his own confusion. “God, I sound like a wreck.”

Steve smiled, however it looked a little pained, “You aren’t a wreck . . . I’ll wait for ya in the bedroom, Buck.” The detective straightened and walked out of the bathroom, leaving the door slightly open, to avoid freaking his lover out, but mainly to be able to hear if Bucky needed him.

Turning back to the shower, knowing that somehow he’d miscommunicated everything, Bucky forced back a sob and stepped into the water of the shower, standing, letting it run over him, uncaring that he still wore the silk boxers . . . or that he wasn’t moving to get cleaned up.

The blond detective bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair; he swallowed the growl of frustration that wanted to work its way past his lips. Bucky had been doing so good, the journalist had finally found some of his happiness again and now Rumlow took that away; took away the small hope of safety that Bucky had found in Fred.

Steve clenched his fists and he didn’t realize he’d punched the wall above the headboard until the jolt of pain ran up his arm. The detective flattened his palm against the wall, surprisingly he hadn’t broken through, ignoring the small trickle of blood that ran down the top of his hand from the split skin across his knuckles.

Hearing the loud crash from the other room, Bucky gasped and threw himself into the corner of the shower, covering his head protectively. He had no idea what happened . . . had Rumlow found a way into the tower? Had he attacked Steve? Trying to get control, and feeling useless and ashamed for his inability to move, Bucky remained in the corner trying to be as still and quiet as possible . . . not wanting Rumlow to find him again. He couldn’t even fucking bring himself to go to Steve’s aid, and he suddenly really hated himself for that cowardice. He didn’t even dare reach over to turn the tell-a-tale water off, hoping beyond prayer that the invader wouldn’t register that someone was in the bathroom.

Hanging his head, Steve felt self hatred burn through his core. He should’ve killed Rumlow when he’d had the chance. Bucky would be safe, Fred would be alive . . . this whole thing would be over. Had he been strong enough to pull the trigger, none of this would’ve happened. Bucky would be _safe_.

As no further noise came from the bedroom, Bucky slowly, carefully uncurled himself. He listened intently as he eased himself, on all fours, from the shower. No footsteps, no voices . . . Bucky held back another sob, eyes wide, his mind racing. Had . . . had he fucking freaked out because maybe Steve had slammed a bureau drawer too hard? Wonderful, Bucky breathed slowly, softly, trying to calm himself. He’d fucking lost it over a normal, everyday noise now? Shit, he’d thought he’d gotten his shit together. The reporter eased to his feet and slunk into his own bedroom, ashamed and unable to face his boyfriend. Especially with the knowledge that he hadn’t come to Steve’s help . . . had cowered in the fucking shower.

Unable to control the sob that burst past his lips, Steve quickly clamped his hand over his mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound. The whole thing was his fault. Rumlow had gone after Bucky in the first place because of him. Bucky had been brutally raped and tortured because of him. Now, Rumlow had grown obsessed with the journalist. Crossbones wasn’t going to stop . . . not until he had Bucky again. The detective clenched his injured fist again and pressed his bleeding knuckles against the smooth surface in front of him.

Opening his closet door, Bucky looked at the empty space, knowing that he had nothing stored in there due to his own fears. Tony had never forced him to use the storage area, not wanting to make him deal with another closet. Shaking his head, more and more aware of the protective cocoon that Bucky had allowed his friends to wrap around him, he suddenly realized he’d gotten more withdrawn from the world rather than more involved. He’d let his fears dictate his life . . . and he absolutely hated it. Hated the control he’d inadvertently allowed Rumlow by hiding in fear in a tower, like some sort of stupid Disney princess or something.

Leaving the closet door open, Bucky strode to his bureau and slid open each drawer, pulling out the first article of acceptable clothing in each. He pulled on a dark green henley, a pair of skinny jeans, and a pair of dark green socks, ignoring that he was still wet and still wore soaking wet boxers. Rather, Bucky headed out through his open bedroom door and walked towards the elevator. He was sick of letting Rumlow win. The thought seemed to overwhelm all reason.

“Captain?” Jarvis’ voice rang out in Steve’s bedroom.

Head snapping up at the sound of Jarvis’ voice, Steve called out, “Yeah?”

“The Sergeant has left his room. I have locked down the elevators.”

“What?” Steve asked, “But - - the water is still going?” Despite his questions he was already heading towards his doors to go find Bucky.

“I believe he had a panic attack in the shower. He did contemplate his empty closet and then dressed and left his room. I do not know why.” Jarvis replied.

Steve opened his door and ran out into the common area, it seemed empty, and Steve looked around frantically; although he knew Bucky couldn’t leave the Tower, he was still concerned.

Bucky found the elevator doors unresponsive and knew he was being pampered, protected yet again. Rather than protest, he headed for the window of the penthouse, trying to unlatch the balcony so he could get outside and get some air.

“Bucky?!” Steve called out, his tone frantic and worried. “Bucky?”

“Yeah,” Bucky called back at the sound of Steve’s worried tones. Of course he’d be worried. Did Bucky do anything but worry his boyfriend any more? “Trying to get the balcony open. I think I’ve been put on restriction . . .” He couldn’t help the frustration in his voice, the anger.

Running towards the sound of Bucky’s voice, Steve skidded to a stop when he saw his lover trying to open the door. “You scared me. If you wanted to leave you shoulda just told me. The shower was still running . . .” 

“Leave?” Bucky looked at him with anger darkened eyes. “I don’t wanna leave. I want air. You do know the windows in my room don’t open because Tony sealed them when I first moved in? Said he didn’t want to tempt me if I got suicidal again . . .” Bucky snapped his mouth shut, eyes widening as he inadvertently let that slip.

“Again?” Steve’s heart dropped and he stared at his boyfriend with wide eyes.

The brunet shook his head, not responding. His jeans clung uncomfortably due to the wet boxers and his shirt plastered to his still wet body, but he felt more worried about the sight of blood dripping from Steve’s hand. Slowly, he breathed, “Steve . . . who hurt you?” Anything to distract Steve from yet more worries over his overly needy boyfriend.

“What?” Steve asked and then remembered his aching hand. Looking down, the blond winced at the sight of blood and the deep purple bruising already flowering against his skin. “Oh . . . uh . . .” The detective used his uninjured hand to rub the back of his neck, his eyes fell to the floor, trying to avoid Bucky’s eyes.

Finally, just giving up, Bucky leaned backwards against the balcony door. He shook his head. “That’s the same damn hand you hurt last night,” he grumbled, but his tone sounded more dull than worried. The anxiety eating at him was so overwhelming, he just decided to ignore it completely. It never helped anyway. Just made him useless and annoying. He could bury his feelings. Softly, he asked “want me to get some bandages?”

“Why’d you leave the shower, Bucky?” Steve asked, ignoring the brunet’s offer of help.

Bucky shrugged, not wanting to tell Steve of yet another stupid panic attack . . . and his cowardly retreat. He began walking back towards the bar where he knew Tony kept supplies. “I think there’s some stuff down here . . . in case Tony breaks a glass or something,” he said.

A sudden realization dawned upon Steve, “I did it . . . I scared you when I hit the wall. Oh my God . . . Bucky I’m so sorry. I - - I was just trying to help . . . you wanted a shower and I messed that up.”

“Don’t worry about it, Steve. I’m recovered. I got through it.” He didn’t look at his lover. “It’s you that needs help now.” He ducked behind the wooden bar and searched for the first aid kit. He froze at Steve’s words and finally slowly stood, the white first aid box in his hands. Frowning, he asked “how the hell can you mess up a shower? It was . . . perfect. The right temperature and pulse and everything.” He wasn’t . . . just wasn’t going to make this about him.

Steve shook his head and turned away, he couldn’t look at his lover. Everything he did seemed to hurt Bucky, no matter how hard he tried to protect the love of his life, bad things always seemed to happen around him.

“Let me take care of your hand, Steve,” Bucky said, opening the box to root for antiseptic and bandages.

“I’m fine.” Steve grumbled, not turning around, he headed towards his room. 

Bucky stood, watching Steve as he left. With a struggling sigh, Bucky slowly closed the first aid kit and let his head hang down. He’d tried to make this about Steve, take care of Steve, and he’d still managed to fuck it up. Slowly, he squatted behind the bar to put the kit away where he’d found it.

Steve entered his room and sat on the edge of the bed, the shower in the bathroom still running, but the detective didn’t seem to have the energy to get up and turn it off. The detective hung his head and let it rest in his uninjured hand; the blood from his knuckles dripped onto the floor but Steve didn’t move. Tears burned in his eyes and the blond tried blinking them away but after a few moments he gave up, letting them fall silently to join the blood drops on the floor.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky headed back into his room and passed the gaping closet into the shared bathroom. He began to pick up his clothing and toss it in the hamper. Then, slowly, he turned off the shower water. Bucky turned and walked back into his room and eyed the closet once more. After a moment, he walked inside and shut the door, curling up in the dark, forcing himself to deal with the panic, the fear. He deserved it after what he’d put Steve through.

Jarvis alerted Riley this time. “Doctor? The Captain and the Sergeant are in distress.”

Riley shot up from where he’d been napping with Sam in their bedroom; quickly he flung himself off the bed. 

“What the hell? Riley?” Sam opened his eyes and reached for his lover. “What’s going on, babe?”

“Go check on Steve,” Riley stated as he ran out of the room to check on his patient. 

“‘Kay,” Sam agreed. The detective got up and headed to Steve’s room. He carefully rapped on the door. “Hey, Steve, man, you okay?”

Steve didn’t answer his partner’s call. Instead he continued to stare at the mixture of tears and blood that formed small pools by his feet.

“Steve? I’m coming in. Get dressed, buddy. I don’t wanna see you nude, man.” Sam opened the door and peered in. Frowning at the dejected pose and the blood, Sam hurried in. “What the hell, Steve?”

Still not indicating that he heard Sam, Steve clenched his uninjured hand and tugged on his short hair. “I mess everything up,” the detective mumbled.

Knowing this had to do with Bucky again, Sam walked over and sank onto the bed next to Steve. “Okay, what’d you do this time, human being?” he asked.

Finally turning his head to look at Sam, Steve swallowed, “Everything . . . Rumlow is my fault, Sam. Without me . . . none of this would’ve happened.”

“Nope,” Sam countered, his eyes narrowing. “Rumlow’s his own damn crazy fault. You blame Jodie Foster for John Hinckley? Or John Lennon for Ted Chapman?”

Sighing, Steve returned his gaze to the floor, “Bucky is better off without me.”

“Why do you think that? Rumlow’s already stalking the pair of you. You back out now, the bastard has easy access to Bucky. That what you want?” Sam glared at his partner.

“Without me . . . Bucky wouldn’t be in danger in the first place. He’d still be writing articles for The Daily Press. He’d be safe.” Steve said, his voice shaking with emotion.

Shaking his head, Sam conceded, “maybe. But that’s the past. Can’t change that without HG Wells, man. So, let’s deal with the present and the future, okay?” Sam reached over and grabbed Steve’s wrist, lifting his hand to study the injury. “So, we know Bucky’s in danger. How do we fix it?”

Eyes welling with a new wave of tears, Steve shook his head, “ _I don’t know!_ I have no idea how to stop Rumlow.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Sam hugged his partner. He stood up and tugged Steve with him. “Come on, let’s go clean you up while we figure this out.” He tugged on Steve again to lead him to the bathroom.

**************

“Bucky?” Riley called out as he entered the bedroom; usually he wouldn’t have gone into the room without Bucky’s permission, but with everything that had happened today, the therapist worried about his patient. The ex-paratrooper scanned the room and frowned at the seemingly empty room. Every drawer was pulled open and water pooled at different spots throughout the room, aside from a trail that led to the closed closet. Frowning deeper, Riley cautiously made his way over to the closet doors; he knew Bucky hadn’t been able to even open them yet.

“Bucky?” Riley called again, his hand resting on the knob. Twisting it, the therapist slowly opened the door and his heart nearly broke at the sight in front of him. Curled into a small ball, rocking silently, Bucky had shoved himself into the far corner of the walk-in closet. Crouching down so that he and Bucky were at the same level, Riley didn’t miss the unfocused gaze in the brunet’s eyes. “Bucky? Hey, what are you doin’ in here?”

“Punishing myself,” Bucky murmured in a nearly dead voice.

Riley’s blood ran cold. He hadn’t heard his patient use that tone before; honestly he preferred the sexual fugue states over whatever _this_ was. “Why are you punishing yourself?” 

“Because I keep hurting Steve,” he said in that dead tone, as if he were being reasonable. Bucky felt perfectly reasonable, rational. It made sense. Every time he came near Steve, something went wrong. No one else seemed to have linked it. Bucky was what must be hurting Steve, so, he deserved punishment . . . like _he_ said.

“You don’t keep hurting Steve, Bucky. Why don’t we get outta the closet. Go someplace where we can talk?” Riley offered, knowing the longer Bucky stayed in the closet, the worse the brunet would become.

“Okay,” Bucky agreed woodenly. He rose in a graceful movement and walked out of the closet as if he’d not been in a closed, dark place. He seemed unaware of the room around him in general as he walked out of the bedroom, past Steve’s open door, and towards the small television room Tony often let him chill out in.

Riley followed Bucky out into the common area, luckily no one seemed to be up yet. Riley didn’t know how to handle _this_ Bucky. The blond didn’t know what the brunet needed right now . . . and it scared him. “Why the closet, Bucky? Why would you put yourself through that?” The therapist asked as they entered the small TV room.

“The worst punishment for the worst offenses,” Bucky said and sank onto the couch. He stared straight ahead, breathing even, carefully keeping his emotions pushed down deep. He refused to be a burden any more. Refused to hurt his friends . . . Steve . . . anymore with his fears and his stupidity and his broken, _wanton_ desires. Best to just cut them all out.

Riley took a deep breath, knowing what he said next could trigger a dangerous reaction out of his patient . . . but he needed to get something back of the Bucky he could work with. “Is that what Rumlow would say to you? That he was punishing you?”

“Yes,” Bucky answered matter-of-factly. “And he was right. I _do_ deserve it. I’m wrong . . . broken . . . disgusting. I hurt people with my words and my being around.”

“That’s not true, Bucky. You didn’t deserve what Rumlow did to you. And you didn’t deserve to put yourself through those memories again.” Riley sighed again and replayed what Bucky had said in his mind. “Wait . . . you hurt people with your words?”

Bucky finally turned his pale blue eyes on Riley and nodded. “All the time. I hurt people with the stuff I write about them,” he sighed and began to curl into a ball. “Just like I killed Fred.”

Riley furrowed his brow in thought, but he pushed away his suspicions and decided to talk to Sam about them later. Right now, Bucky needed him. “You didn’t kill Fred.” 

Finishing tucking himself into a ball in the corner of the over-large couch, Bucky merely stared forward at the blank television. He blinked slowly. “Of course I did. It’s why Steve can’t touch me anymore.”

“What?” Riley asked, “What do you mean, Steve won’t touch you?”

With a sigh, Bucky shook his head. “Doesn’t matter any more,” he assured Riley. “I don’t blame him. It’s better this way. He needs someone who can take care of him . . . not someone who’s gonna hide in a corner when he slams a drawer or something. He needs someone . . . not broken.” Bucky curled his face into his arms, which were wrapped tightly around his bent up knees.

“You’re not broken, Bucky.” Riley said, he had been taken aback by the information, it sounded as if Bucky and Steve had broken up. 

In a muffled voice, Bucky said “it’s okay, Riley, I figured it out. I don’t care any more. You can go . . . take care of someone worth it.” He shrugged his shoulders in his fetal position, face still hidden, fighting the urge to cry, to be selfish. “I’ll just go back to the hospital and let them fix me like before. It was better for everyone.”

“Not better for me,” Steve mumbled from where he stood behind the couch. His hand had been freshly wrapped, and Sam and he were heading towards the computer room when they saw Riley and Bucky on the couch.

The brunet didn’t answer. Sam looked over at his own boyfriend, worried by what he’d overheard, and Bucky’s dead tone.

“You’re worth everything, Bucky.” Steve swallowed hard; hearing how little his lover thought of himself had hit the blond detective like a freight train. “You’re my reason that I wake up in the mornings. You are the light of my life. ‘Til the end of the line, remember?”

Shaking his head, Bucky lifted his face at last, eyes miserable, face red and tear-streaked despite his best efforts. “I can’t be the Bucky you want, Stevie. I can’t be sane . . . I’ve tried so hard, but I keep hurting you. I don’t wanna hurt you anymore.” And he bit his lip trying to hold back his sob.

Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “No, Bucky. I keep hurting you. I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I’m sorry that - -” The taller man’s shoulders shook when a sob ripped through him, and he covered his mouth to quiet the sound.

Sam gave Steve a little push towards the couch, going more on instinct than clinical training.

Stumbling forward, Steve collapsed on the couch close to Bucky, but not actually touching him, “I’m so sorry. What happened to you was my fault. If I could go and take your place . . . God, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” Steve said, his voice raw and filled with all the emotions he’d been trying so hard to bottle up.

“No . . .” Bucky whimpered at the idea that Steve would suffer what Rumlow had done to him. “No, Stevie, you don’t deserve punishment like I do. I’m the one who hurts everyone. I finally understand what he meant . . . he was right. I hurt everyone I come near.” Bucky sobbed and slapped his hand over his mouth, fighting the show of selfish weakness.

“You don’t deserve punishment!” Steve cried out, “You didn’t deserve anything that happened to you. You are one of the most amazing and caring people I know.”

Finally, Bucky wanted to make Steve see what he’d come to understand. He uncurled enough to lay his trembling right hand almost flat on Steve’s chest. “Don’t you see? I fake it. I fake it so people will talk to me . . . tell me their secrets so I can report them. I make money off hurting people. Everything I write is poison, and that’s why he had to punish me. I didn’t understand until now . . . when I saw how I hurt Fred. He was right. Everything I write is poison and I need to be stopped. So, he was told to stop me . . . and I’m gonna stop.” Bucky shook his head. “I don’t wanna hurt anyone any more.”

“The article was never released, Bucky.” Wade stated is a soft tone as he and Peter walked, hand-in-hand into the main living area.

Bucky lifted puzzled eyes to Wade, the first sign of actual emotion rather than self-hatred since coming out of the closet.

“Told to punish you for writing?” Sam asked, confused. “Who told you that?”

Looking over to Sam, Bucky sighed. “ _He_ did. He said he was supposed to punish me for writing poison about everyone.”

“Fisk!” Steve fought to stop the growl that worked its way from his chest. “Fisk had Rumlow - -” The detective couldn’t finish his sentence . . . he felt like he was going to be sick.

“My God,” Sam breathed, looking to Riley for confirmation. “Rumlow didn’t attack Bucky because he was stalking Steve?”

Riley shook his head, “From what Bucky is saying . . . no. It sounds like the whole thing was Fisk’s idea. He wanted to make Bucky stop writing his articles . . . Rumlow hurting Steve was just icing on the cake for him.”

“But we don’t have proof that Fisk did it, do we?” asked Peter. “We have Bucky’s statement that someone told the guy to attack, but not who.”

“Makes sense as to why the fat fuck was in that house that night. Jammed himself in the closet, probably, to throw off Steve!” Sam growled. “Bet he was there to watch . . .” the detective looked sick at the thought.

Steve turned to look at Bucky, blue eyes searching his lover’s face, “Did you see Fisk at all throughout your time at that house? Maybe hear his voice?”

“I . . . I . . .” Bucky shook his head, eyes widening and fear crossing his features. “I don’t remember . . . I saw shadows, heard voices. It was dark . . . “

“I know this is hard,” Steve said, he reached out and took Bucky’s flesh hand in his own, prepared for his lover to pull away, the blond detective held his boyfriend’s gaze, “I need you to think . . . there had to be a little light . . . while - - while Rumlow was attacking you. Did you see Fisk?”

A shudder wracked through Bucky’s body and he seemed to collapse into the couch, eyes rolling back in his head.

“Shit!” Sam swore.

“Bucky!” Steve called out but Riley pushed him away and moved in to get a closer look at his patient.

“Vitals, Jarvis?” Riley asked as he carefully checked Bucky’s pulse more out of habit than anything else.

“Vitals are within normal parameters. He is not unconscious any longer.” Jarvis reported, and the AI was correct. Bucky’s eyes fluttered back open from his faint.

“Hey, Bucky,” Riley smiled softly, “You alright?”

“Yeah?” Bucky said, tone confused, eyes cast down in shame at his weakness yet again. Fainting this time? God, he hated himself sometimes. And he hated himself even more for being unable to pull away from Steve, for needing to feel the other man. “I . . . I’m sorry.” The wooden tone, the lack of emotion had fled; he felt like he still had no control over himself.

“It’s okay, Bucky. Maybe you should go rest? You’ve had a long day,” Riley offered.

“Did Fisk have any reason to be in any other section of that house he was found in?” Foggy’s voice came from the doorway where he stood, ice pack over his eye and cheek. Matt stood next to him, listening to the scene unfold around him.

“You mean Rumlow’s wife’s house?” Sam shook his head. “Not that I know of. He said he was taken right to that closet and trapped in there for three days.”

Nodding then wincing, Foggy said “then his fingerprints and DNA shouldn’t be anywhere but the closet, the room the closet’s in, and the hallway leading there, right? The entire place was dusted and gone over?”

Steve nodded, but he didn’t tear his eyes away from Bucky, “Yeah, the house was gone over with a finetooth comb . . . everything was cataloged and put in evidence.”

“So, Fisk had no reason to be anywhere near where Bucky had been locked up?” Foggy asked. “If his prints and DNA are anywhere but where he swore . . . he was somewhere other than where he claimed.”

“Then we finally have the bastard.” Matt added.

The brunet reporter sighed and shook his head, sounding as exhausted as he suddenly felt. “I don’t remember . . . it’s a blank again.” He looked up to Riley, eyes frustrated. “I can’t always remember what happened in there.”

“If you really want to try to remember . . . you can try meditating to clear your head. But I don’t know if you remembering is what’s best for you right now,” Riley stated, his eyes searched his patient’s.

“I don’t want to remember, but you need me to,” Bucky pointed out, leaning his head on Steve’s shoulder with a whimper.

“We don’t need your testimony,” Matt said, “We can prove it with forensics alone. Testimony would simply add more against the case, but we definitely don’t need it.”

“It would certainly help to prove he’s been after you all along,” Foggy added but shrugged. “But shadows and voices don’t amount to much, so don’t push it, Barnes.” The counselor moved into the room. “And we’ve gotten to review some of that footage . . . the confession is good.” Foggy turned and offered a smile to Steve. “We’ve got one henchman admitting the connection. We need access to the forensics.”

“You’ll get it. I’ll call Fury,” Steve said with a firm nod.

“No, you won’t,” Sam corrected. “Remember? We aren’t working. Nat or Sharon can get the forensics. We’re bodyguards.”

“I hate being on leave,” Steve grumbled.

Sam smiled softly. “Seems leave gives you a chance to hang out with your boyfriend more. He looks like he could use a few cuddles, maybe his own wash down like he did for you.” The detective looked towards Riley for affirmation.

“Yeah,” Riley smiled, “Why don’t you two go clean up. Get some rest, Bucky. You need it.”

The reporter looked at the blond detective and sighed, but his eyes held hope. “I don’t wanna force you into anything, Steve,” he murmured, pushing to his feet.

Following his lover to his feet, Steve said, “You aren’t forcing me into anything. I’ll even carry you if you want.” The detective smiled at the joke from the night before, but he held out his arms to show that he wasn’t completely joking.

Bucky suddenly let out a sob and covered his mouth.

Foggy sighed. “You know what works for me and Matt? Using your words, Bucky . . . Steve. Anytime you aren’t sure of the answer, ask for clarification. Don’t be afraid to ask.”

Steve looked at his boyfriend, “Tell me what you want, Buck. Please, I don’t wanna do nothin’ stupid again.”

Swallowing the sob, Bucky wrapped his arms around himself nervously, but he kept his eyes on his boyfriend. “I . . . I want you to shower with me?” he whispered.

“Then let’s go shower,” Steve smiled and offered his hand.

Bucky sobbed again and took the hand, leaning into the larger man. “I . . . I can’t lose you, Stevie, please? Please don’t leave me? I know I’m needy and scared and broken, but I don’t wanna lose you.”

Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s in a gentle, loving kiss. It was slow but the detective hoped it showed Bucky all the emotions he felt. “I’m not going anywhere. As long as you want me . . . I’m yours.” Steve breathed into the kiss.

“But you two are going to your shower right now,” Sam ordered, giving Steve a little shove but not touching Bucky. “Go on, get.”

“Want me to carry you?” Steve asked, “I will ya know?”

Bucky whimpered into the kiss but followed Steve from the television room. “No, I wanna walk beside you . . . strong when I can be. I’m not always strong . . . but I wanna be.”

“Hmm . . .” Steve hummed in agreement, “Too bad. I wanted to show you my macho muscles.” The detective offered his boyfriend a playful smirk.

Studying his boyfriend, Bucky softly asked “did you want to really carry me, Steve? Because if you want to, I’ll let you. I just can’t tell when we’re serious or when we’re playing any more.”

Smirk fading, Steve shrugged and tightened his grip around Bucky’s hand, pulling it to his lips. “Plenty of time for me to carry you, Buck. I plan to carry you bridal style when we finally buy a house together though, just so you know.”

Bucky actually laughed at that, but merely began to walk by his lover. “Might take you up on that.”

Foggy called out to their retreating backs, “oh, better than asking? The word ‘no.’ Use it when you don’t want something so the other’s sure.” He walked closer to Matt and slid his hand to his partner’s back, a light touch, nothing that couldn’t be shrugged off.

“You sound like a mother hen,” Matt said with a laugh.

Foggy nodded, watching as the pair disappeared, “yeah, but those little chicks need a lot of guidance, don’t they? How did you manage all this time, Riley?” He turned his smile on the therapist.

Riley groaned softly and fell back against the couch; he felt like another nap. “I didn’t. I just faked it until I made it. God . . . I feel like the last couple weeks have shaved years off my lifespan.”

Sighing, Sam sat on the couch and stroked Riley’s neck with his strong hand. “You really get far too involved in your patients, babe. Once this is over, I refuse to let you ever move in with another one of them.” He dropped a light kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead.

Moving to rest his head on Sam’s shoulder, Riley grunted in agreement. “Please do. If I ever suggest it . . . just smack the back of my head or something.”

“How about I smack your ass instead?” Sam moved his mouth to Riley’s ear, nibbling lightly.

“Mhmm . . . careful detective, I’m known to be horny when I’m tired,” Riley moaned slightly as Sam’s teeth scraped against his earlobe. 

Standing, Sam scooped the smaller man into his arms without warning. “Well, must do something about that. I recall we have a room with a huge ass bathtub . . .”

“Yes, please!” Riley smiled, kissing his lover’s neck.

With a soft growl, Sam carried his lover from the room. “Hey, how about some roleplay, Riley? I’ll be an Alpha werewolf and you be my Omega bitch,” and the detective disappeared down the hall, out of earshot.

“Why is everyone so kinky?” Matt asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“The water,” Clint’s tired voice sounded from the common room, where he’d been sitting the entire time, happily ignored. “I swear Stark puts something in the water.”

“Remind me to buy bottled,” Matt said to Foggy with a small smirk.

Foggy snickered. “Well, I guess I’m going back to work,” he reported with a smile, letting go of Matt’s back. “The case won’t make itself.”

“Let’s go nail us a fat bastard,” Matt smiled as he turned to walk back to the computer room, cane tapping lightly against the hard floor. 

Peter turned to Wade. “Wow,” he whispered. “Uh . . . so, I was . . . and . . . yeah,” he nodded, running a hand through his hair, eyes troubled.”

“Words Baby-Boy.” Wade laughed and pressed a kiss to the tip of Peter’s nose.

“Yeah, right,” he breathed, large brown eyes crossing as he watched Wade. “I don’t wanna be a reporter,” he added, shaking his head to uncross his eyes.

“What do you mean? Don’t ya love writing for the paper?” Wade asked.

Still shaking his head, Peter sighed. “No, actually I hate it.” He grinned at Wade. “But I need the money to help Aunt May and no one else was hiring except Starbucks.”

“Well, a spot may have just opened up at this high class range. You can be a secretary for one of the instructors. Only thing is you have to be naked . . . all the time.”

Flushing, meeting and keeping Wade’s eyes, the youth asked, “does that mean I have to sit on his lap and serve him coffee? Cause I can totally do that.”

“Just the sitting on his lap part,” Wade breathed huskily.

Peter pressed his lips against Wade’s with a small groan. “God, make me wanna lose my virginity!” he muttered, unaware he said it loud enough to be heard.

“When ya ready, Baby-Boy. I will gladly make love to you.” Wade muttered as he sucked on Peter’s neck.

Groaning again, and flushing bright red, Peter leaned into the feeling of Wade’s mouth. “God, I’ve been ready for a week,” he moaned.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Wade growled against the brunet’s skin.

Peter nodded, unable to speak, finally, he would get what he’d been wanting. He tugged Wade’s hand, leading him to their connected rooms, desire . . . lust in his eyes as he trembled in anticipation.

As the last door closed before the last couple, Clint lifted his glass of whiskey, still sitting alone and forgotten on the common room couch. Toasting no one, he said “and I thought _I_ was the one on my honeymoon” and took a long drink.

**********

As if a repeat of a few hours before, Bucky carefully stripped out of his soaked shirt and jeans,peeling out of his silk boxers at last. He stared at the shower, hugging himself once more. It was easy to follow Foggy’s advise in the crowd, but now he was alone with Steve again . . . and started feeling the same damn insecurities creeping back in.

“What’s wrong, Bucky?” Steve asked, noticing his lover’s anxious behavior. The blond detective stepped closer so that he could rest his hands on the brunet’s biceps.

Words . . . use your words, Bucky reminded himself. “Steve, you love me . . .” He turned in Steve’s grip, facing him with troubled eyes. “Why?” He kept his voice calm with only a trace of confusion and fear laced through.

“I’ve already told you . . . I love you because you’re amazing . . . kind . . . beautiful inside and out. You’re the light of my life, baby. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Steve smiled softly at his words, praying that his boyfriend would finally believe him, finally see how amazing he is.

Drawing a slow breath, Bucky nodded and placed his forehead to Steve’s. “Sometimes I need to remember that, I guess,” he breathed. “I love you . . . this is hard, huh?” He lifted his face to look in Steve’s beautiful eyes. If Steve could do it, he could too. “I love you because you make me feel like a person? Like I’m not just some hurt puppy kicked too many times that needs a bone and a petting. I love you because you make me wanna be better.” He leaned his forehead back on Steve’s and breathed deeply. “I don’t wanna let you down, and you always seem to really believe I haven’t . . . I love that. You have belief in me and make me believe in myself . . . when I don’t get too lost in my head.” Bucky shook his head slightly, frustrated at how hard it was to explain what he wanted to say. “I don’t know how to say everything anymore. I used to. It’s my job, isn’t it? Using words . . . but it’s so hard when it’s me and you.” He stroked his right hand down Steve’s chest.

Slowly, Steve raised his uninjured hand and tilted his lover’s chin so that they were looking at each other. “You’ll never let me down, Bucky. I believe in you because you make it so damn easy, you are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. You’ve seen the horrors of the world and yet . . . you still focus on the positives.”

Bucky snorted but let Steve continue talking, needing to break through their lack of communication, their assumptions. Foggy was right . . . it was time to talk to each other.

“You are the person that I want to spend the rest of my life with . . . you are the person that I want to strive every day to be worthy of. You have my heart and my soul, Bucky. We are gonna get through this and then I will live my life to make you happy . . . to see your smile every day.” 

Lifting his head once more, Bucky shook his head. “So, we both think the other is more perfect than anyone else?” He laughed shakily. “But we both think we don’t deserve such happiness, huh? We are a screwed up pair, Stevie.” He drew back from Steve’s embrace and turned to start the shower.

Laughing, a slightly nervous sound, Steve said as he slipped his shirt over his head, “Yeah, well . . . I guess we make each other’s life interesting? We’ll never be that boring couple, right?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Bucky snorted lightly. “Sometimes being the boring couple might be nice,” he said then stepped into the shower. “Will you come in and help me wash up? I gotta take my arm off . . . it’s aching again.” He gestured with his right hand to his left shoulder.

Stripping off the rest of his clothes, letting them pile next to Bucky’s, Steve stepped into the shower and kissed his lover’s left shoulder, right where the metal and skin clashed. 

Bucky reached up and began to unfasten the harness, the connectors Tony had built into the joint. True, the thing was water resistant, but at times Bucky just ached too much to carry the weight of it. Besides . . . it could probably use another good charging. “Can you put this on the charge, Stevie? It needs to be dried . . .” he looked at his lover, watching his eyes out of habit for any disgust for the disfigurement.

Smiling as he took the prosthetic, Steve made sure to kiss the scarred flesh before stepping out of the shower, careful not to slip on the tile flooring. The blond detective walked into Bucky’s room, slightly taken aback from the sight of all the drawers and closet wide open. After setting the arm onto the charger, Steve looked closer at the opened closet, knowing Bucky hadn’t been able to open the doors yet. The blond’s eyes widened at the large pool of water at the corner of the small space. Had Bucky locked himself in the closet?

Making his way back into the bathroom, smiling at the sight of his boyfriend already washing his hair, Steve stepped back into the shower, “Bucky?” The detective muttered softly.

Bucky glanced over, trying to avoid getting shampoo in his eyes as he worked the lather in with only one hand. “Here I am, Steve,” he called softly, unsure what Steve’s tone might mean. His lover sounded worried again.

“You locked yourself in the closet?” The detective asked, his tone cautious and sad. 

Sighing, Bucky dropped his hand from his head and let his head hang down. “Yeah,” he answered in a small voice. “I . . . I felt like I needed to punish myself for hurting you and killing Fred.”

Releasing a deep breath through his mouth, Steve reached over and squirted some shampoo into his palm. “Is it okay if I help wash your hair?” The detective knew his boyfriend didn’t need the help but he felt like he needed to do something, anything to help his lover.

“Please?” Bucky whispered, feeling small and needing to feel better . . . like he had after everyone had talked in the other room. “Please touch me? I don’t like feeling like this, Steve . . . like he was right about punishments.” Bucky sighed. “I think Riley’s going to be talking to me a whole lot about that now.”

The reporter lifted his face and looked at those vivid blue eyes. “Thing is, Steve, I had forgotten that had even happened? It’s hard . . . to explain . . . things are so foggy all the time about that . . . with _him_.” Bucky turned to let Steve access his hair.

Swallowing hard, Steve nodded and gently began to work his fingers through the brunet’s hair. Taking a deep breath, the blond said, “I know you don’t like it . . . hopefully you and Riley can work through that . . . I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem,” Bucky said, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat. “Part of the reason I got so bad is I was angry I kept making you hurt. I always feel like I’m dragging you down, poisoning you or something.” Bucky turned his head to look at Steve over his shoulder. He suddenly couldn’t find the words again, facing his lover, so he turned back to face the faucets.

“Oh . . . Bucky. You aren’t dragging me down. Does it hurt when I see you so upset? Yeah, I’m not going to lie to you, it does. I know you’re working through things . . . things I will never be able to fully understand. But I want you to know that you can always talk to me . . . or if you just need a hug or . . . something . . . you can always come to me. No matter what.” Steve continued to massage Bucky’s scalp, running his fingers through the brown locks.

“That’s just it, Steve. I tried to tell you I needed a hug earlier and you left.” He couldn’t help the desperation welling in his voice. “I told you I wanted to cuddle and you . . . walked away.” Bucky held back the sob, but his shoulders shook anyway.

“What?” Steve froze, his fingers stopping in Bucky’s hair. “What . . . I didn’t?” 

Bucky turned, facing the slightly taller man. “You did, Steve.” He sounded confused suddenly. Had he imagined the entire thing? Had he started hallucinating like he’d done back in Florida?

“You mean before with the shower?” Steve asked, looking down at his boyfriend with intense eyes.

The brunet nodded mutely.

Steve groaned and threw his head back, letting the water hit his face. “God, I’m an idiot . . . I thought you meant you wanted to shower alone . . . and then cuddle in bed! That’s why I left.”

This time, Bucky let the sob out. He gripped Steve’s hip with his hand and buried his face in the large, warm chest. Shaking his head slowly, he whispered “No. I wanted to cuddle in the shower. I guess I’m weird to want this.” He sobbed again, chest heaving. “And you left and I thought you didn’t want to even touch me because of the range thing and . . .” he broke down completely, unable to talk, hoping Steve wouldn’t push him away again.

Wrapping his arms tightly around Bucky’s shaking shoulders, Steve pulled his lover in closer. “I’m so sorry, Bucky. I - - I misunderstood what you wanted. You’re not weird for wanting this . . . sometimes I’m just a bit dense . . . I need things spelled out for me.”

“No,” Bucky shook his head. “Stop putting yourself down. You do that too much, Stevie. I hate when you do that. You’re so wonderful . . . and I can’t expect you to understand what goes through my mixed-up crazy thoughts.” The reporter lifted his face to study steve through tear-washed pale blue eyes. “Foggy’s right. We just gotta use our words more . . . ask for verification. Say ‘no’ when we don’t want something.”

“We’ll work on this,” Steve stated and kissed the journalist’s forehead.

Humming softly in approval, Bucky kissed back, feeling relief wash over him when Steve didn’t reject him.

“So beautiful,” Steve murmured against his boyfriend’s lips, “I love you, Bucky. Have I told you that before?”

“You know, gorgeous,” Bucky sighed, “I don’t mind when people repeat themselves. Gotta get the facts straight an’ all.” He stroked his hand up to Steve’s neck and kissed him again.

Steve moved one hand to rest on Bucky’s waist as he deepened the kiss; wanting nothing more than to show his boyfriend how much he loved him. 

Feeling the exhaustion and grief and self-doubt lifting, at least for the moment, Bucky practically purred into Steve’s mouth, “So, lover, when’s the last time we had sex in the shower?”

“Mhmm,” Steve groaned, “Way too long. I love you, baby, you’re my everything.” The detective moved to run his lips and tongue down the side of Bucky’s neck, nipping gently at the soft flesh near his lover’s collarbone.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, happily, “you say that because you want me.” Bucky lifted his eyes to Steve’s and let his right hand slide down to cup his lover’s shaft and heavy sac. “But once we’re done, you’ll fall asleep without even a kiss, won’t you?” he teased, his tone actually light.

“I can do this all day.” Steve purred, his lips still caressing the brunet’s neck.

Bucky leaned close to Steve’s ear and growled, “Prove it.”


	14. Trials and Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Post Traumatic triggers; Confronting the Past, including War

Matt could hear the nervous tapping of a pencil to his left; they were on their third day of trial and finally Wilson Fisk would be on the stand. The blind lawyer knew he and Foggy had a solid case against the politician, especially since they got the results of the DNA tests from the house in which Bucky and, supposedly, Fisk had been kept by Rumlow.

Rising to his feet, the blind lawyer tapped his cane in front of him; he turned his head in the direction of the jury, hearing their steady heartbeats, and then faced the front of the room. Fisk’s heart beat heavily in his chest, and Matt had to fight the smirk that wanted to creep its way onto his lips.

“Mr. Fisk, would you care to tell the court why you thought it necessary to publicly expose what had been done to Mr. Barnes?” Matt started, figuring he’d start off easy, work his way up.

“Of course,” Wilson Fisk said, smoothly. “As a public representative, it is my job, my sworn duty, to make sure the public knows when their _public servants_ are not doing their jobs.”

“But why release private details of what happened to the victim? Surely you could’ve done your _sworn duty_ without telling the whole world about the trauma inflicted on an innocent man,” Matt continued, his hand clasped tightly over his cane as he stared ahead.

“By learning just how much damage had been done to one of their own, a beloved and well respected member of the press, the public would know precisely how poorly the police force had performed their jobs. They weren’t protecting me or my fellow victims.” Fisk answered clearly and calmly.

“But did you ask for Mr. Barnes’ permission to release private details of his case? Did you get written, or even verbal, consent?” The brunet lawyer asked; he did smirk when he heard the larger man’s heart rate pick up.

The large man studied the attorney for a long moment then answered, “I did not give out details. I simply stated the same information that was available to any law enforcement agent, and we all know how the police force loves to leak information to the press.” He stared straight at Steve in the observation area.

“But as a respected member of the community you should’ve been above that, Mr. Fisk. Just because, as you said, information is leaked . . . that doesn’t mean you have to share it. Mr. Barnes had not been ready for his history to be revealed . . . you didn’t think to ask him first?” Matt continued, he turned and ran his fingers over the documents he had lying on the table, written in brail.

“I believe you will find that my attorney had at least half a dozen witnesses who heard the information before I ever went on the air. There were nine months for it to be released, Mr. Murdock.” Fisk blinked and looked humble. The absence of his own attorney became very evident, but the man had insisted on continuing his case on schedule despite the attorney’s sudden illness.

“Ah, yes,” Matt nodded, “Most of those witnesses included officers and EMT personnel that had been on scene to see the horrific state my client had been in. The other two were nurses that worked in the hospital in which Mr. Barnes had been admitted to. Not exactly people who have a history of releasing information to the public, Mr. Fisk.”

“All very possible perpetrators of releasing the information, as well. They, among many others, were privy to the rapes Mr. Barnes had to suffer through at the hands of the suspect the police ignored. Any one of them could have leaked it, and so I was not the first.”

“But no story broke out until you held your news conference, Mr. Fisk.” Matt added.

“No story was publicized on the television, that is true, but word of mouth can sometimes be as swift as an evening video,” Fisk countered.

“So you still claim you were a victim of Mr. Rumlow? Of the serial killer known by the name of Crossbones?” Matt asked, he turned back to face where Fisk sat.

Shaking his head, Fisk smiled slightly as if at Matt’s naivete. “I do not claim to know who my abductor, or Mr. Barnes’ rapist, is. I left that, unfortunately, to the police as well. And their suspect escaped before being tried, if I recall. Now more people are dying . . . like Senator McCoy and Miss Stephanie Lovette.”

“Ah, yes, excuse my slip of the tongue,” Matt nodded again, “And those lives lost were quite tragic, weren’t they, Mr. Fisk?”

“Very tragic, Mr. Murdock. I grieve for the families over their terrible losses,” Fisk nodded looking sad.

Turning again, this time to face the jury, Matt took a few steps forward until his hand rested on the railing in front of the jury box. “Why did you attack Mr. Rogers that night, Mr. Fisk?”

“When I was released from captivity?” Fisk asked smoothly. “Why I thought it was my attacker, my kidnapper trying to come harm me.”

“Oh, no, not then. The night of the NYPD Gala.” Matt nodded towards Foggy, signaling his partner to present the video Peter had managed to capture of Fisk going after Steve.

“I believe you are mistaken, Mr. Murdock. There was such confusion, anything could have happened,” Fisk answered.

Foggy raised his hand. “Your honor, may I present exhibit 18A? It is video footage of the alleged attack during the said night.” The judge nodded and Foggy stood and brought over the disc copy of Peter’s footage. The judge signaled Foggy to put it in the player, which Foggy did. Matt’s partner then cued up the attack scene, and had to talk them through it, since as a blind man Matt wouldn’t be believed.

“As you see here, during the stated confusion, Mister Fisk, dressed in grey, pulled a small object from his pocket. He lifted the object in his hand and a shot sounded. The phone in Officer Rogers’s hand then explodes. Now, keep an eye on Mr. Fisk’s hand, see as he moves to put it back in his pocket, and let me freeze that and enlarge . . .” Foggy worked quickly at the computer until they could see quite clearly that the object was a small gun in Mr. Fisk’s palm.

Fisk shook his head with a small, amused smile. “I believe you were fooled by a toy, Mr. Nelson. That is a cap gun nothing more. I do not own a gun, as you can prove by checking gun registration as well as the search of my home and vehicle and office. No guns were found because I don’t own one. That is a child’s toy I carry to scare off imbeciles.”

Foggy flushed, but didn’t argue. He made a small clicking noise to alert Matt to take back over the argument.

Nodding, Matt tapped on the wood banister a few times before starting again. “That night you threatened our client after you had been served with the court order. Which Misters Stark, Barton, Rogers, and Wilson have already testified to, as well as Miss Carter.. You said that Mr. Barnes would wish he’d never gotten out of that house; that you’d make his life, I quote _‘hell.’_ Now why would a respected politician as yourself threaten a victim of such horrendous crimes?”

“Haven’t we all become angry at some point in our lives when another person spreads lies and calumny about us? I admit, it was a very improper thing to say, but there was no malice behind it. I never intended to carry through on such regretful words. I lost my temper at the false accusations and the repeated personal attacks.” Fisk frowned softly and looked regretful.

“Lies?” Matt questioned, tilting his head, “Which lies did Mr. Barnes tell about you? He simply said that you released information about his private life without his consent, which you have already admitted to doing.”

Fisk spread his hands as if innocent. “Ah, you are taking this out of context, Mr. Murdock. You see, Mr. Barnes has made it a point, I believe, to personally attack my political and business practices over the course of many years. Finally, I lost my temper, after years of abuse and lies and negative rumors spread by Mr. Barnes himself in his so called news reports.”

“So a reporter doing his job, upset you? I thought you - -” Matt quirked an eyebrow when he was sharply cut off.

“No,” Fisk cut him off, “a reporter spreading lies, Mr. Murdock. If Mr. Barnes had been doing the job he was paid to do, he would have been reporting on all the community projects I have helped and on my campaigns and other official duties. He would not be trying to spuriously link me to some mythical being called Kingpin just to boost his own ratings, I might hazard.”

“So you have a vendetta against the one reporter that went against you? His reports against you made you angry?”

Fisk shook his head and tsked. “A vendetta? Never, Mr. Murdock. You are deliberately trying to twist my words and actions to make them appear the very worst. This court hearing, I believe, is about my possible breach of Mr. Barnes’ privacy, not about my other actions and statements made at various times. I would appreciate you staying on topic, sir.”

“Ah, yes, my apologies, Mr. Fisk.” Matt nodded and ducked his head as he tapped his cane against the wooden floor. The brunet lawyer went over to his desk and ran his fingers over the documents again, looking in the direction of where Foggy sat right next to Bucky. 

Bucky stared intently at Fisk the entire time, watching, gauging. His right hand remained in his lap, out of view of anyone casually observing, but his left, the prosthesis, lay quietly on the table. Bucky’s heart hammered in his chest the longer Fisk was on the stand and kept repeating about Bucky’s rapes.

Matt clucked his tongue, and nodded. “Mr. Fisk . . . you do not deny spreading Mr. Barnes’ history?”

Fisk looked straight at Bucky, past Foggy. Bucky stiffened. Fisk smiled slightly. “I do not denying giving out the information that Mr. Barnes was brutally raped in captivity, a fact I erroneously thought was common knowledge as I had heard it spoken of so many times by other people.”

“But you did not ask for Mr. Barnes’ permission before going public, did you?” Matt turned back to face Fisk. 

“I believe the letter of the law states, and I summarize, that public knowledge is not considered private, and thus, only _unknown_ information which can be considered detrimental to the stated individual and is _not_ considered a public service to know, is subject to this law.”

“But it wasn’t public knowledge. And you didn’t stop to think about how telling the world about his attacks were going affect Mr. Barnes?”

“Ah, but, one, I thought it was public knowledge as I had already heard it quite publicly, and, two, I felt it benefited the public to know what was happening to our private citizens due to the ineptitude of our police force.” Fisk nodded with each of his points then looked at the Jury, his expression looking contrite and worried. “Unfortunately, in the great public good, how this affected Mr. Barnes was the lesser evil than keeping such heinous details of his brutal rapes due to police ineffectiveness secret . . . isn’t that what you want? Me to admit that such knowledge that the police couldn’t be trusted should be swept under the carpet like so many dirty politicians before me has done?”

Bucky muttered something quietly to Foggy, and with Matt’s spectacular hearing, he was able to determine that Bucky told the other lawyer that maybe they should keep on this angle and question Fisk about what heinous crime he means? If he would share what the police would try to cover up that went on in that house. Bucky’s heart pounded as he suggested it, fighting a panic attack. He’d already taken a heavy dose of anxiety medicine as well as some mood stabilizers that morning and considered taking his tranquilizer, too.

“And what, do tell, Mr. Fisk, were the police trying to cover up? What is so heinous about this particular rape that it should stand out among the other rapes in this city?” Matt asked, his fist knocking lightly on the wood behind him.

Fisk sent a glare to Matt’s hand, apparently quite annoyed by his constant knocking. He frowned fiercely. “Well, what the police don’t want the public to know is that this suspect they failed to pin down was the same one who owned the house, the one who threw me into a closet for two days. This vile creature was the one who literally sodomized Mr. Barnes in his own filth, making him beg for it and coating him with his own . . . well, this is no place for such disgusting details of the abuse and degradation the man suffered. Having to obey and ask for his own punishment.”

Jaws clenching, Matt knocked on the wood desk again, slightly louder this time. “You seem to have no problem saying these things yourself . . .” Matt shook his head before continuing, “Mr. Fisk, you were two rooms away from where Mr. Barnes was kept, through multiple solid surfaces . . . how could you have possibly heard what was being done to him?”

“His screams were loud, Mr. Murdock. Horribly, terrifyingly loud. I’m surprised he even survived the torment without being permanently kept in that asylum he was admitted to for so long.” Fisk continued to glare at Matt.

“That’s not even on my records!” Bucky gasped, and Foggy shushed him. Bucky furiously whispered to Foggy, “Nowhere is there a record in New York of me being in a hospital. Only Florida knows that!”

Matt tilted his head; both Fisk’s and Bucky’s heart rate skyrocketed. “Mr. Fisk, how would you know about the specifics of the rape? Surely Mr. Barnes or the suspect weren’t screaming every single detail. How would you know?”

Looking smug, Fisk responded, “I didn’t hear every single detail, Mr. Murdock. I only heard bits and pieces and put it together logically.” He spread his hands once more. “It wasn’t hard to hear the degrading insults and orders Mr. Barnes was being given, or the loud screams and pleas from Mr. Barnes. And did you smell him . . . oh, wait, you weren’t there when we were rescued. He stunk, Mr. Murdock, like a man who’d been lying in his own feces and urine for hours if not days.”

“I hear you weren’t much better.” Matt snapped back, his tone still remained professional though.

“No, I wasn’t,” he mourned. “We were both under terrible abuse, and Mr. Barnes is my hero. If it were not for his presence, I would probably have been molested myself. As detrimental as it was to Mr. Barnes, his receiving the abuse saved me from such a horrible, painful, degrading fate.”

“So you’re thankful that Mr. Barnes was raped. Him being violently assaulted saved you?” Matt knocked on the wood, sensing the agitation which it caused the large man.

“No,” Fisk shook his head, hands up once more, though he glared at Matt’s knocking hand. How did the bastard know Fisk hated repetitive noises like that? “You are twisting what I said again. I said, I am thankful I wasn’t traumatized as badly as him, and that his being there saved me. I did not say I wanted him to be hurt.”

Knocking again, Matt nodded, “Your Honor? I’d like to present Exhibit 19?”

“Yes?” the Judge looked up with a frown. “And that is?”

“DNA results. From the crime scene,” Matt stated; he heard Fisk’s sudden intake of breath and his heart rate increase again.

Foggy held up the reports, claiming, “Exhibit 19A, Mr. Barnes’ DNA. Exhibit 19B, Mr. Fisk’s DNA. Exhibits 1C through M, DNA evidence taken from various rooms of the dwelling.” Foggy stood, “Most interesting to note, your honor, is the comparison of 19B to 19E, the closet Mr. Barnes had been kept in.” Foggy made sure the pages hit Matt’s hand so he could take them up to the judge.

Carefully, Matt delivered the documents, making sure to knock the wood right in front of Fisk as he turned to walk back into the middle of the room.

Fisk clasped his hands tightly, the knuckles going white, as he glared at Matt.

Bucky muttered, “how did he know about Florida unless the bastard’s stalking me?” Foggy shushed the brunet.

“As you can see, your Honor, Mr. Fisk’s DNA was found in the room he’d been kept, the hallway, and the common area . . . but what is most curious is that Mr. Fisk’s DNA was also found right in front of the closet in which Mr. Barnes had been kept.” Matt said, tapping his cane against the wooden floor.

Foggy held up another paper, “your Honor, Exhibit 20. The police interview signed by Mr. Fisk, stating he had only ever been in his own holding room and closet, the hallway, and the front common room.” The judge nodded and held out his hand for Matt to bring the document up.

Matt delivered the papers, knocking on the witness stand again as he passed by both times. 

Fisk clenched his teeth. “I was abused. I might have been in other rooms, which is how I could have heard things clearly and my DNA get elsewhere. I was injured and ill. My memory is a bit clouded.”

Matt walked up to the stand, knuckles bouncing against the wooden railing of the stand; the brunet lawyer didn’t back away. “You were there in the room, Mr. Fisk. You lied on your police report . . . you’re lying right now.”

“It is possible I was in the room, Mr. Murdock,” Fisk conceded, but hurriedly added, “I did not deliberately lie to the police. I was confused and thought I had only been dragged a few places. But the man did mention punishment and what would happen if I struggled, so that might have been when I was near Mr. Barnes’ holding area.”

Matt rapped against the wood in front of him again; leaning in closer, the lawyer tilted his head, “Might have? Or was? Might want to get your stories straight there, Mr. Fisk.”

“Will you stop that infernal knocking you blind buffoon!” Fisk screamed suddenly surging to his feet. “I didn’t lay a hand on that asshole, Barnes. I had nothing to do with Rumlow making him beg to take it up the ass and get reamed with objects and rubbed with filth. That was Rumlow’s idea once he found out the reporter was fucking a bunch of police officers!”

A sudden thump drew all attention to the prosecutor’s table, where Foggy bent over, his ass in the air, head under the table, trying to tend to an unconscious Bucky. The judge stood. “Bailiff, take the witness into custody, and get emergency in here! In the observation area, sit down!”

Steve having been shouted at to sit back down, craned his neck to try and get a glimpse of his boyfriend but Foggy and Matt, once the brunet lawyer had made his way over, were blocking Bucky’s body from view. 

Sam whispered to Steve, “we got that confession. It was Rumlow’s idea? How would Fisk know that? We got him, Steve,” the other detective touched his partner’s arm.

Steve looked ahead, his eyes filled with worry; he didn’t even acknowledge that he’d heard his partner.

Matt leaned down close to Bucky, immediately hearing the reporter’s heartbeat and steady breathing, “He’s okay, Foggy. He passed out from anxiety.” The blind lawyer murmured close to Foggy’s ear.

“Had another panic attack, you mean,” Foggy sighed and straightened, watching as two medics ran over. Sirens denoted even more on their way.

Thy dragged Fisk from the courtroom as the judge called for order and banged his gavel. “This case will be in recess until tomorrow. Dismissed!” He strode from the bench and approached Matt, who rose to his feet upon hearing the Judge’s footsteps. “Might wanna talk to the cops about which charges your presenting, Murdock. You’re all over the place and have little to no evidence for the actual invasion of privacy charge you claimed to be after. If you weren’t such a fine lawyer, I’d have shut you up the moment you started haranguing Fisk instead of allowing him to dig his own grave like that. Stupid ass shouldn’t have defended himself when his lawyer took sick leave due to bad Mexican food last night.”

Matt nodded, “Thank you, your Honor. I’ll be speaking with the police and DA later this afternoon after I make sure my client is okay.”

The judge looked down and shrugged. “Looks like he’s coming out of it. Most of the room’s been cleared and the police actually kicked out most the press, too. Lucky Mr. Barnes is so damn popular.”

The blind lawyer looked down and heard Bucky moving slightly.

Finally the judge sighed, “oh, and I won’t be the one trying future Fisk cases. I’m too prejudice after today. But you may wanna consider just how much personal information he was spilling in this public court that no one, including the jury, needed to hear about Mr. Barnes’s life. Mr. Barnes wasn’t the one on trial.”

An EMT helped Bucky to sit, and the brunet leaned against the sturdy woman, breathing and trying to reorient himself.

Matt crouched down again, “I’m sorry about that, Bucky. I had to get him upset enough.”

Bucky groaned softly. “I wanted to catch him. I knew if we pushed hard enough, he’d lose it. As long as you got what you need, I’ll be fine.” The brunet looked up at those unseeing eyes.

“Fisk is ruined. I’ll be talking to the DA to add more serious crimes to his charges. I’m just sorry you had to hear that,” Matt said softly as he listened to the steady beating of the ex-sniper’s heart.

“Hear it?” Bucky shook his head slightly and swayed, putting his right hand to his temple. “I had to live it.”

Once the judge left the room, Sam tagged Steve then stood. He hurried towards the front of the courtroom.

Steve rushed to his feet and hurried over to where Bucky sat up, leaning against the EMT. Matt looked troubled and Foggy concerned. “Bucky? Are you okay?” Steve asked as he kneeled down on the floor, far enough away to give the EMT space to work but close enough so Bucky could reach him if needed. 

Looking over to his boyfriend, Bucky suddenly couldn’t hold back. He sobbed. Matt was right to be concerned, hearing Fisk reveal to everyone, once again, how broken and disgusting he was, begging for that abuse . . . Bucky felt filthy and small . . . and useless. “Steve?” His voice sounded as small and ugly as he felt.

“It’s okay, Bucky.” Steve cooed, he fought the urge to wrap his arms around his lover; the EMT needed space to do her job, “You’re okay.”

Bucky hugged himself, shaking his head and looking away, silent. The EMT frowned, not having been in the courtroom to understand the man’s sudden withdrawal. “Yes, you are. You don’t even need to go to the hospital,” she reassured the brunet, who merely shook his head again.

“You’re safe, Bucky.” Steve continued.

“I’m safe,” he repeated dutifully, dully.

“Is it okay if I get closer?” Steve asked the EMT. 

“Sure, if you want. He’s free to leave, in fact. Didn’t even hit his head on the way down. Just should drink fluids and rest a bit.” She stood, packing up her equipment.

Nodding, Steve scooted closer and held out his arms, “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe.”

“I’m safe,” Bucky repeated, still not looking at anyone, including Steve.

Sam frowned down at the couple then turned to scan the seats. _‘Riley?’_ he mouthed. Not seeing his boyfriend, the detective turned back to his partner. “Hey, Steve, let’s get him home, okay? Do what the EMT said, let him rest.”

“Is it okay if I touch you, baby?” Steve asked, turning his focus back onto his lover.

“Yeah, if you still wanna,” Bucky said woodenly. “Go ahead and touch away.”

Moving closer, his heart breaking at his boyfriend’s words, Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, “Can you walk?”

Without a word, the brunet rose gracefully to his feet, barely using his metal hand to push from the floor. He began to walk from the courtroom, ignoring reporters who’d stayed behind to yell questions about the case, and Fisk, and even about some of the sordid details released. Some even used the words Fisk had used, asking for more details. Bucky cringed and walked faster, head hanging, shoulders hunched, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Where is Riley?” Steve snapped as he shoved past the reporters to follow Bucky out of the courtroom.

“Beats me,” Sam growled, following Bucky at a fast clip and yelling at reporters to mind their own business and stop hounding the man.

Foggy gathered up their supplies and led Matt after the departing trio.

“I feel terrible,” Matt grumbled close to Foggy’s ear, his partner’s guiding hand the only thing helping him through the chaos of the reporters; Matt’s enhanced hearing made the journalists’ questions seem ten times louder, making walking extremely hard.

Carefully guiding Matt, Foggy held his partner’s elbow and maneuvered around the crowds. He frowned and nodded. “They’re vultures, the lot of ‘em. They’ll pick him clean and he’s in no state to fight back. If he hadn’t wanted so bad to catch Fisk in those lies, I wouldn’t have let it go as long as it did either.”

“I kept pushin’ him. I knew the knocking was makin’ him mad.” Matt shook his head, jaw snapping shut, unable to form more words.

With a nod, Foggy sighed. “Well, Bucky got that right in his research, didn’t he? The guy hates tapping and knocking of any sort.”

Finally outside and able to get into their cars, Bucky barely glanced at Happy, who held a door open on one of the SUV’s. Instead, the ex-reporter slinked into the vehicle and curled up against the far corner, looking at the floor rather than out a window. He sat hunched and self-defensive in his posture.

Steve turned around to face Sam before he got in the car, “We need to get Riley, we can’t just leave ‘im here!”

“Like I would leave my boyfriend in this mess?” Sam turned and started trying to scout for the smaller blond man. “Riley!” He called loudly above the noise.

Riley, running out of the courthouse, finally spotted his boyfriend by the SUV’s. The therapist ignored the flash of cameras and the questions that were being shouted at him. “Sam!” The blond man called back as he ran towards the ex-paratrooper. 

“Riley!” Sam hollered back and waved. “Meltdown in the back seat!”

Nodding, Riley closed the remaining distance, his breath came out in huffs. “I’m sorry . . . Ma called. Dad had a heart attack this morning . . .” 

“Shit!” Sam enveloped Riley in one arm and led him to a different SUV, Happy jumping to open that door.

Riley looked at Sam, torn between wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and letting the tears he wanted to let out flow, or making sure Bucky was okay. Bucky needed him.

Sam guided his boyfriend into the second SUV. “C’mon, baby, Steve can handle Bucky by now. I’m taking you to your Ma’s place. Happy? We need a driver. I don’t have a license. Long story.”

“He didn’t make it,” Riley murmured, almost to himself, he didn’t even know if Sam heard him.

Happy immediately slid in and started the SUV, driving the pair to where he could swap out with another driver who could take them anywhere they wanted, sympathy on his normal jovial face.

Sam nodded and lifted Riley’s face. He kissed his boyfriend’s lips softly. “I know, baby.” He held the smaller man, caressing his back and kissing him gently.

Riley felt his whole body shake, “But I need to be with Bucky . . . Bucky needs me . . . I- I-”

“Bull shit, Riley. You need time for yourself and your Ma. Bucky's got a whole tower of people and Doctor Strange to boot. He’ll be fine!” Sam stroked Riley’s cheek; he’d never met Riley’s father - - his boyfriend never even spoke about the man - - but the therapist seemed pretty torn up, and Sam determined to be there for Riley.

Finally, Riley threw his arms around Sam and buried his face into his boyfriend’s neck; letting the sobs rip through his body. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye!” The blond cried.

Soothing, Sam murmured, “we’ll say goodbye when we get there. He’ll hear you, babe. Angels hear everyone.”

Riley clutched onto Sam’s shirt tighter, it seemed like all the emotions he had been keeping under lock and key were exploding to the surface. The smaller blond shook in his lover’s arms, he didn’t know what to do, his whole life had been turned upside down within a matter of minutes. 

Sam merely held his lover, soothing words mixing with nonsense noises and they rode out the way to their destination.

**********

Steve had heard that Riley’s father suffered a heart attack before Sam whisked the blond therapist away. The blond detective looked over at Bucky again and released a deep breath. Another SUV waited for Matt and Foggy, so Steve slid into the back of the car and ordered for the driver to start moving.

The driver turned around and peaked through the partition. “Where to?” he asked for clarification. It was a familiar face, belonging to one of Tony’s many staff members, a guy named Scott.

“The Tower, please.” Steve answered before shooting a concerned look at Bucky. “Baby . . . you know that nothing of what Fisk said changes my opinion of you, right? No one is going to think any less of you.”

The driver closed the panel with a soft whisk and the car pulled away. Bucky looked up from his corner and frowned, eyes filled with unshed tears of shame and self-loathing. “You can't speak for everyone, Steve,” he said in a quiet, almost dull vice.

“No . . . I guess I can’t. But I can speak for myself . . . and everyone that cares about you. I know what you’re thinking . . . but you aren’t any of it, okay?” Steve really wished Riley were here, the blond detective knew he was too worked up himself to be able to rationally help his boyfriend right now.

“You know what I’m thinking? How about I’m thinking that everyone out there now knows that I begged for what Rumlow did. How about they all know that I spent time in an asylum.” He sighed and shook his head, tears starting to spill. “They know all the worst, but none of the good . . . and that’s my fault since I let them use me against Fisk.” He barked out a shaky, self-derogatory laugh. “I insisted, so why am I surprised that the worst got spilled? I should’ve known it would happen.”

Steve closed his eyes and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. What Fisk had said repeated itself over and over again in his mind; he wanted nothing more than to squeeze the life out of the fat politician. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m sorry that we had to put you through all that again. We should’ve worked harder to figure out another way.”

“Worked harder?” Bucky shook his head. “If you guys had worked harder, you’d have collapsed and been put in the hospital for exhaustion.” He hugged himself again. “I wish I could point to Fisk’s lies, but it’s hard to find even one that he uttered about me, you know?” He closed his grey-blue eyes.

Steve clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists before he forced himself to relax them. “You didn’t sleep with a bunch of cops,” Steve muttered. 

“How much is a bunch?” Bucky asked quietly.

“Uh,” Steve blinked at his boyfriend, “I - - I don’t know.” The blond detective furrowed his brows at the statement; as much as he knew, he had been the only police officer Bucky had been with.

The brunet finally turned his face to the window, watching the racing scenery as he hunched in his corner.

“I’m sure you haven’t slept with a bunch of cops . . . whatever that number happens to be,” Steve said.

Sighing, Bucky looked at Steve with troubled eyes. “Depends on how many a bunch is,” he reiterated.

“What are you doing, Bucky?” Steve asked, eyes searching his boyfriend’s.

“Doing?” He frowned. “I’m sitting in a car with my boyfriend trying to have a conversation.”

“No . . . you’re trying to get me to think less of you. It’s not going to happen. I love you . . . I don’t care if you slept with a bunch of cops . . . whatever the hell that means. I love you.” 

Bucky threw his hands in the air, wincing as he came in contact with the roof of the SUV. “I don’t know how many a bunch is, Steve, so I have no idea if I’ve slept with a bunch!”

“Stop it,” Steve had to bite back the frustration that wanted to leak into his tone. “Stop focusing on that . . . I’m sorry I brought it up.”

Frowning, Bucky shook his head. “I’m not. Because you’re right, Steve. He may’ve been lying about it. So, if I know how many a bunch is, I can deny or confirm it, and that’s one less secret or whatever between us. Isn’t that the point of open communication?” He frowned and narrowed his eyes. “You say it doesn’t matter, so why are you getting pissy about it when I’m trying to clarify it?”

“I’m not!” Steve groaned and threw his head back so it rested against the leather seat. He really wished Riley were here. “Let’s start at the basics then . . . how many police officers have you slept with, Bucky?”

“Specifically police officers or law enforcement of any kind?” Bucky asked, he watched Steve intently, but he seemed to be over his dull, wooden state at least.

“In general,” Steve stated, neck snapping back so he could look at his boyfriend.

“Three,” Bucky answered.

“Well that don’t sound like a bunch to me,” Steve said, although he died to ask who Bucky had been with; the detective didn’t know if that would be very appropriate.

“So, if three’s not a bunch, Fisk lied about me.” He suddenly let out a sigh. “So, the public can’t trust anything he said, truth or not.” He seemed somehow satisfied with that and looked back out his window, frown replaced by a thoughtful look though his eyes still looked misty.

Steve looked at his lover with confusion; he tried to understand how Bucky’s mind worked, but sometimes it worked too fast for him to get a handle on. Groaning softly, Steve leaned back again and shut his eyes.

Almost at the tower, Bucky spoke softly. “The first one was a military policeman in my unit. Jacques.” He kept looking out the window.

“Bucky you don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna. It’s your private life . . . I don’t wanna push you into anything.\,” Steve said quietly, eyes opening but he didn’t move his head to look at his lover.

Rolling his eyes towards Steve, Bucky shook his head. “I didn’t even hear you ask, so how can you be pushing? I just thought, if it was me, I’d be curious.” He shrugged, turning his body so he faced Steve full on. “Technically, he wasn’t my boyfriend, he was Gabe’s, but he’d come sleep in my tent when Gabe was on patrol or off on solo runs or such.”

“Did Gabe know?” Steve found himself asking.

Snorting, the brunet let his head fall back slightly, looking up to the sun roof. “Yeah, pretty sure he did. But he never came out and accused us of anything. Just one time he told me ‘Barnes, I’m fucking glad you’re clean man!’ and walked away.” He looked at Steve. “What else was I supposed to think except he knew Jacques was comin’ to me when Gabe wasn’t available. Jacques was a strange bird . . . had to have it like every night or he go antsy and sick.” Bucky looked back at the roof again.”And he was okay in bed . . . nothing to leave anyone over. Nothing like you.”

Steve shifted in his seat, unsure of how he felt about this conversation, “Thanks?” The detective murmured.

Looking back at his lover, Bucky shook his head. “I just told you that you were worth leaving someone for and all I get is a questionable thanks? Man, are you self-centered,” but there was a teasing note in his voice.

“This conversation makes me uncomfortable,” Steve said softly.

The smile left Bucky’s face and he sighed. “I’m sorry, Steve.” He looked down at his hands. “I shoulda kept quiet.”

“No . . . I didn’t mean stop . . . it’s just - - look we agreed to this telling each other the truth thing - - just ya gotta understand hearing about other men you slept with is a little weird. Wouldn’t you feel something if I started tellin’ ya about other people I slept with?”

Bucky lifted his eyes. “I already know about two of them, and they couldn’t have held your interest because you didn’t stay with them,” Bucky pointed out reasonably. “So, I figured I must come out better than them in bed or we wouldn’t even be in this car right now.”

“You could be the shittiest person in bed and I’d still choose you every single time,” Steve said, eyes finally meeting Bucky’s, “You’re not, you’re really good - - but I’m just sayin’.”

“Well, you can thank my only other two male lovers for that. They both taught me something. Even if Jacques was a bit boring or mediocre, he still knew a few things.” Bucky looked back towards the window.

“Who was the second one?” Steve asked, despite his own feelings towards this conversation.

“You wanna know? Or you gonna get mad again if I answer this time?” Bucky asked, frowning slightly.

“I didn’t get mad!” Steve said quickly, “I told you that it just made me a bit uncomfortable.”

“A bit? I got the idea you were more than a bit uncomfortable and I don’t want to do that to you Steve.” Bucky watched Steve with intense blue-grey eyes.

“I asked, didn’t I?” Steve offered.

Sighing, Bucky nodded but didn’t look away. “Clint.”

Sitting up straight Steve knock his head on the top of the car; muttering a curse under his breath, the blond stuttered, rubbing the now tender spot on the top of his head, “What? Clint? As in Nat’s Clint?”

“Yeah, ‘s the only Clint I know,” Bucky answered.

“When . . . I - - I mean . . . when?” Steve sputtered.

“You _mean_ when,” Bucky nodded. “Well, when Nat brought him home as a boyfriend, she said we needed to get to know each other. So we all got wasted together and wound up in a threesome. The only time I ever slept with either of them, in fact.” He shrugged. “I’m sure you did stuff like that in college.”

Steve blinked several times, the image of the three of them in bed not leaving his mind, the blond blushed deep and cleared his throat. “I - - I uh . . . well . . .” The detective scratched the back of his neck.

“Or maybe did something with Sam back in the academy?” Bucky continued.

“It was one time . . . Riley had just gotten home from the military,” Steve answered.

Bucky nodded. “And it was one time for us, too, Steve. It’s not like Clint makes a habit of doing men. He woke up in the morning and freaked out.” The brunet shrugged.

“I wasn’t saying that it wasn’t more than a one time for you . . .” Steve mumbled.

“And in the military we both had regular lovers. So, that pretty much makes us even, yeah?” Bucky tilted his head.

“‘Cept mine turned out to be a crazy motherfucker . . .” Steve barked bitterly, eyes widening when he realized what he’d said, “Oh my gosh! Bucky . . . I’m sorry!”

“And mine died because I didn’t see the trap that was laid,” Bucky responded, frowning. “What’s wrong, Steve? It’s true. Rumlow is a crazy motherfucker.” He sighed, “and one of the reasons we’re even having this weird ass conversation. At least my lover gave me good memories. I’m sorry yours was a total fruitcake nutbag.”

Steve laughed slightly, “Yeah, well . . . sad thing is he didn’t used to be like this.”

“So . . .” Bucky said slowly, carefully, as if he might be afraid to express his thoughts but going to do it anyway, “you drive men mad when you don’t stay with them?” He nodded sagely. “Guess I gotta stay with you. Don’t wanna go nuts again.”

Looking at his lover with intense eyes, Steve eyed Bucky’s face trying to read the other man’s expressions. “I . . . uh - - guess not?”

Bucky smiled. “Or is that taking it to creepy stalkerish?” he asked softly, eyes dancing with mischief.

“This is a fucked up conversation.” Steve laughed suddenly, shaking his head. 

With a nod, the reporter slid closer to Steve and leaned in “but we’re a fucked up kind of couple, ain’t we?” He kissed Steve’s neck softly, allowing him to pull away easily if he wished.

Leaning in closer to Bucky, Steve hummed in agreement, “I don’t know if you heard . . . but I don’t want you to find out by someone else.”

“Thanks, Stevie,” Bucky murmured, kissing again. “What? What don’t you want someone else to tell me?”

“Well . . . the reason why we couldn’t find Riley . . . he had gotten a call from his Ma. His Dad had a heart attack . . . didn’t make it.” Steve said softly.

Bucky straightened up with a sudden frown, eyes intense. He looked like he was actually thinking over that. Finally, he nodded and looked out the window again. “Scott’s been driving us in circles around the tower for maybe ten minutes now,” he said voice neutral, almost emotionless once more.

“Baby?” Steve called, “Bucky . . . talk to me.”

“Talk to you?” Bucky turned pained eyes on Steve. “About what? What should I say? Never met the man. Last I heard he had told Riley to leave until he got his shit together and stopped fucking men. I’m sorry Riley lost his dad, and that’s gotta hurt even if they were estranged, but what can I do for him?”

“Well . . .” Steve began softly, “He and Sam are gonna be gone for a few days. When he gets back . . . he might need ya. You’re more his friend than a patient.”

“Well, I think I can behave long enough not to ask if he’s relieved his dad died,” Bucky muttered, rolling his eyes. He sighed. “Sorry, sorry . . . I have trouble with assholes who can’t let their kids live. Riley deserved better than a dad who shunned him for being gay and a mother who went along with it so she didn’t rock the boat.”

“He did, but that doesn’t mean he won’t be sad. He’ll need you,” Steve said.

Bucky leaned close to Steve. “Of course he’s sad. If it was me, I’d be heartbroken. Now there’s no chance of getting his dad to see him for the good man he is rather than the prejudice the old man had. I get that completely. And I’m sure as hell not gonna let Riley see how pissed at the guy I still am. But I’m not sure what more I can do, Steve. I can sit and listen and cuddle and feed him oreo mint ice cream, but I think he’ll really be doing a lot of leaning on Sam.” Bucky shook his head, running his hand through his short, gelled hair.

“Yeah, he will. But, and trust me when I say this, Sam can get a bit overbearing when someone is sad or sick. One time I got the flu and the man literally handcuffed me to the bed,” the detective said, laughing softly at the memory.

“Oh,” Bucky nodded and looked down at his hands. Thinking over that, Bucky sighed. “Well, if Sam starts getting too pushy, I’ll move in with a friendly hug and a game of Rummy or something.”

“I didn’t say something stupid again, did I?” Steve asked, eyes worried.

Puzzled, the brunet looked up at the blond. “Stupid? No . . . why do you think you said something stupid? I didn’t know how over the top Sam could get, and sometimes you need to breathe if you’re dealing. I know that much. Over the top can get overwhelming and drive you deeper. ‘S why I’m glad you were the one who picked me . . . ‘cause when we get our shit together, we make an awesome team.”

Steve smiled and kissed Bucky’s temple, “Yeah, we do. I love you . . . ya know that right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky felt like he melted against Steve. “And I love being reminded, too.” He nuzzled into Steve’s neck and breathed “and I love you, Stevie.” After a few warm breaths on Steve’s neck, he murmured, “and now that two assholes are out of the way, only the moherfucker’s left.” He stroked Steve’s chest through his shirt.

“We’ll get ‘im. I know the DA was talkin’ about a deal with Fisk to get to Rumlow.” Steve murmured running his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

“A deal?” Bucky sat straighter, indignant. “A deal with that fucker? When we think he might’ve ordered Rumlow to kill half a dozen people and kidnap me? God, I’d rather hunt down Rumlow with what we’ve already got for intel than strike a deal with that fat bastard!”

“Foggy and Matt are tryin’ to fight it,” Steve offered, “That’s why Matt went so hard in court today . . . gotta say the tappin’ thing from your research really worked.”

“He won’t be allowed to get away with it again, though,” Bucky murmured. “Whoever the new judge is won’t let him.” Bucky stroked down Steve’s chest. “Can you tell Scott to drop us at the tower instead of circling it? I’m sick of watching that news stand guy leer at us every time we circle. Almost feel like he can see through the tinted windows.”

Steve nodded and tapped on the glass separating them from the driver.

The driver slid the partition back. “Yes?”

“Ya can drop us off now,” Steve stated.

“‘Kay,” he answered and immediately pulled into the underground garage, passing through the security checks with ease. Finally, he pulled to a stop next to the blue elevator. “All ashore that’s goin’ ashore.”

Bucky slipped out of the car, shaking his head. “I am not and never was in the Navy, Scott.”

Steve got out of the car and took Bucky’s hand in his own.

Bucky looked up at Steve and smiled softly. “So, wanna go upstairs and see if the trial’s made it to the news yet? Betcha Clint and Nat’re watching it.” His voice sounded light and almost teasing.

Looking down at his boyfriend with a tilt of his head, Steve shook his head, a small smile on his lips “I think we’ve both had enough of that damn trial for today.”

“Oh!” Bucky sighed almost happy sounding. “Then we get to take showers to clear away the feeling of being covered in Whale Slime?”

Leaning over to kiss Bucky’s neck, lips lingering against the brunet’s skin, “Yeah, a shower sounds real nice right about now.”

**********

Leaving Steve asleep in his bed, Bucky carefully slipped from his lover’s room and into the bathroom. He quickly cleaned up, smiling softly at the intense lovemaking they’d shared last night. Drying off, Bucky headed into his own room and rooted through his bureau, deliberately not looking towards the closet. Quickly pulling out a pair of soft tailored trousers and a button down, long sleeved shirt, Bucky slipped into the clothes, pausing long enough to determine he didn’t want a tie. Instead, he left the top two buttons undone on his shirt, slipped into socks and well-tended dress shoes, and pocketed his wallet and keys.

Walking calmly from the room, Bucky listened but noted that any other inhabitants of the tower seemed occupied and out of range. With a shrug, not planning anything dangerous or stupid, Bucky pulled over a pad of paper sitting on a small stand by the blue elevator. He quickly wrote a note and then stepped into the elevator. “Jarvis, I’m going out for the day. You got that taser in your elevator compartment still?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” JARVIS intoned, and a small panel slid back in what would have been the number panel if the elevator had more than two stops.

Nodding, Bucky grabbed the taser and pocketed it. Once the elevator opened up at the garage, the reporter stepped out and smiled at Happy. “Can you send Scott? I’m going on a drive and Tony’ll want you handy.”

Happy shut the door to the car once more and turned, gesturing at one of the security guards. The man picked up his phone and began talking. Turning back to Bucky, Happy studied him. “Anything I can help with, sir?”

The tall brunet shook his head and ran his hand through his short hair. “No, thanks, Happy. I’m looking up some old friends, actually. I should be safe.” He smiled sadly. “There’ll be some military police available if I need them.”

“Mr. Lang’s arrived, sir,” called the other guard and Bucky nodded. “Thanks. Hold him. I’ll go out to meet him.” The reporter walked quickly to Scott’s normally assigned bullet-proofed SUV.

Once in the car, the reporter calmly stated, “I’d like to go to the National Veteran’s Cemetery, please.”

Without replying, Scott pulled the SUV into heavy New York early morning traffic, and Bucky settled for the ride. It would be about four hours before they arrived at Arlington, and he wanted to collect his thoughts. He had too much to think about.

Scott’s voice woke him from his doze and Bucky stretched awkwardly in the SUV. He looked out at the late morning traffic, frowning as Scott pulled them into parking for the cemetery. Bucky patiently let the man do his job, though he felt he could have opened his own door.

“Scott, can you walk with me for a bit? Steve’ll freak if he thought I ditched you the entire time,” Bucky softly asked the bodyguard.

Nodding, Scott fell into step beside the man he was assigned to protect.

The pair quietly made their way through rows and rows and rows of neatly kept military markers of numerous religious observances. Many markers were lines of soldiers returned from death in war, each grouped in their own era. Some markers denoted other military heroes, dying during a civilian event but having served in the defense of America. Occasionally a small group of headstones surrounded by a fence or off on a raised hill marked an entire tiny unit destroyed or another unique group buried one next to another.

It took some time before Bucky located the group of eight headstones surrounded by a simple chain set in stanchions: the men of a tiny, barely remembered infiltration unit: the Howlin’ Commandos, led by Major James Montgomery Falsworth. Only two of the ten had made it back alive; the rest had been wiped out completely by a sniper. Naturally, three of the graves were empty, as Falsworth had actually been physically buried back in England and Dernier in France, their homelands, but out of respect for the unity of the team that had died together, markers had been purchased and erected for the foreign members of the unit as well. The third empty grave belonged to Sergeant Timothy Dugan, whose body had been so badly destroyed there had literally been nothing left to bury aside from his dog tags, which had been warped and burnt and embedded in a shell of a car nearly four hundred feet away.

As an afterthought, in respect for those visiting and the overall serenity of the place, Bucky fumbled in his pocket, pulled out his phone, and flicked it off. As he slipped the device back into his pocket, Bucky took a breath then stepped over the chain into the private enclosure and fell to his knees in front of the central marker: Major Falsworth’s. He never noticed as Scott switched his own phone to vibrate and stepped back a couple paces to give the grieving ex-soldier some privacy, glaring at others who approached out of curiosity.

Slowly, the brunet raised his metal hand and carefully set it on the flat unobtrusive marker. He gently traced the letters with fingers that would never feel the smooth stone cut with precise letters and numbers. “Hey Monty,” he whispered. “Know I haven’t visited. Been real messed up, you know? I haven’t really much liked myself since you guys . . .” He nodded and stroked the light grey marble again. “I’m sorry, sir, for failing you . . . all of you. I should’ve seen it was a trap.” He hung his head and his shoulders shook, though Bucky held back the tears.

“I’ve been working on that, though. That self hate, you know? I’ve got a real nice paratrooper who helps me, named Riley.” Taking a deep breath, the brunet glanced over at the marker claiming _‘Jacques Dernier, France’_ along with his date of death. “Not like that, Dernier. Get out of the gutter. Riley’s my therapist . . . for my mental problems. My boyfriend’s name is Steve Rogers, and he’s a soldier, too.”

Chuckling bitterly, ignoring the fact that he talked out loud to a group of gravestones, Bucky transferred his hand to a slightly larger marker. “Hey Dum Dum.” Drawing a shaky breath, holding back a wrenching sob, he shifted until he sat, cross-legged on the ground before the memorials for his unit. “Wade’s alive, you know? Yeah, yeah, too damn stupid to die, right? He’s got me learning to shoot again . . . since I lost the arm, it’s been real hard to relearn anything. Hadn’t even thought I’d shoot again . . . but Wade thought of it.”

From where he sat, the grieving man couldn’t reach any of the other markers, so he merely reached for the three he could, switching one to another every once in awhile as he spoke. “Wade looks worse than I do, all covered in burn scars, but he’s landed on his feet. He gets paid to kill people . . . a merc.” With a shrug, Bucky sighed, “the guy was never gonna come to the light side, Morita, so I guess it’s good he found a way to use his dark powers, huh? But, really, he’s helped as much as Riley.” Stretching his back without thinking about it, still sitting cross-legged, Bucky lay both hands on his knees.

“Riley helped me learn to meditate . . . get out of my head when I get stuck, you know? But Wade found a place I could go to shoot. Fred died recently, though. I guess I should explain or Juniper’s gonna be yelling non-stop and wake the place.” Bucky drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, eyes closing.

Finally, he spoke. “I’m a reporter now, and there’s this ass trying to wreck my city. So, I’ve been trying to exposing him for awhile. Well . . . uh . . . Steve’s unit was killed, too, except him and a guy named Rumlow.” Bucky opened his eyes, sad steel-blue in a drawn face, unaware of the tears leaking slowly down his face. “I’m all over the map, ain’t I?”

Reaching up to trace Falsworth’s lettering again, Bucky softly said, “well the ass killing my city is named Fisk. He found Rumlow, who has an intense hate for Steve. Long story short, Rumlow got paid to kidnap me, probably even to kill me. But, can’t take me down that easy, huh? I mean if an enemy ambush couldn’t do it, why would one asshole? But he figured out I’m with Steve, and Rumlow lost it. He let his inner fucking weirdo out and . . . attacked me.”

Right hand trembling, Bucky wrapped his arms around himself, closing his eyes and bowing his back, chin pressed to his sternum. He didn’t notice as Scott stepped right up to the chain, worry on his face. The former soldier gasped brokenly, fighting the sobs. “And so I’ve been really broken these last months. Even checked into a mental hospital, but it didn’t help. I got worse. But . . . but Riley and Wade . . . and Steve, my God, I couldn’t make it without Steve.”

Finally, too lost in the swirl of loss and horror, Bucky broke down, crying as if his heart would break all over again. “I . . . I . . . I wish . . . wish you guys . . . were here. I . . . I need . . . a hug, Gabe.”

Silently, Scott stepped over the chain and sank down beside Bucky, on his right side, next to his principal. The slender guard slipped his arm around the equally lean reporter and pulled him into a gentle hug. As Bucky turned into the comfort, Scott lifted his other hand and stroked the crying man’s soft hair, silent and patient, letting Bucky grieve.


	15. Unwanted Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: Very graphic violence, graphic rape imagery, Skip this chapter if these are triggers for you**

Steve shifted, his body stretching across the sheets; the blond detective frowned when his hand ran over the empty spot where Bucky had been. Sitting up, the detective looked over and frowned deeper when he didn’t see his lover. He couldn’t hear the shower running, and the bathroom door stood open, so the brunet couldn’t be in there.

“Jarvis?” Steve called out, “Where’s Bucky?”

“Yes, Captain?” JARVIS intoned politely. “I believe he left you a note, sir.”

Swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress, Steve stood up and walked over to his closet, pulling out a pair of sweats. The blond pulled them on as he walked out of the room, why would Bucky leave without telling him? They had a good evening together, Bucky had been happy . . . why would he leave without at least saying goodbye?

Steve padded over to the elevator and saw the note sitting on the small table by the doors. The blond took a deep breath; every time he’d gotten a note relating to his lover it had been horrible. Steve thought back to the three taunting letters Rumlow had left for him at the crime scenes, letters that bragged about how Rumlow had raped Bucky. Grabbing the paper, the detective’s jaw clench and brows furrowed as he reread the note a few times.

_‘Steve, went to visit an old flame. Will take some time. Be back sometime tonight. Don’t worry. I’ve got protection. Bucky’_

Not dropping the note, Steve made his way back into his room, the door shutting softly behind him. The blond detective reached for his phone on the nightstand, to call his lover, and swallowed hard when he saw that he had unread messages from an unknown number. Opening the first message, Steve let out a loud gasp at the picture displayed in front of him. 

_Bucky gagged and bound, arms behind him, on the floor of a cement room, bruised and bloody and unconscious, with his hair caught in the blood on his face._

The text below the image read: 

“Heya, lover. Thanks for letting the babe back out of the crib. I appreciate the playmate.”

Stomach lurching, and his heart pounding heavily in his ears, Steve felt nausea wash over him. This couldn’t be happening! Rumlow couldn’t possibly have Bucky again! Bucky had said that he’d taken protection with him . . . and he wouldn’t have left without one of Tony’s driver’s . . . would he? 

However, he closed the first message and with shaky hands, opened the next message. Steve felt tears spring into his eyes and he clamped his hand over his mouth to muffle the trembling sob that broke pass his lips. 

_Bucky, tied, beaten, and lying, completely nude in a puddle of human waste, blood, and other unidentifiable slop._

The text this time read “the driver's not as pretty as he was, but nothing beats my Love-Bucky here.” An audio was also included, and when Steve hesitantly flicked it on, _a horrible, gut wrenching scream tore through the room_ . . . a scream Steve had heard very few times before, and only when Bucky was at his most traumatized.

Steve closed his eyes as Bucky’s scream reverberated through him, the sound echoing in the detective’s ears. _No, No, No. Please . . . this cannot be happening!_ Steve pleaded, a small whimper escaping his lips. Opening his eyes, the blond looked down at his phone, the picture still glaring up at him. He exited and after a few seconds opened the last message.

The third message contained yet another picture of Bucky.

_Eyes wide open and looking up in abject fear as an unknown cock sat halfway down his throat. A hand with a familiar skull and crossbones tattoo was tangled in Bucky’s greasy, blood-drenched hair._

The text read “thought I’d share,” with an audio of Bucky’s all too familiar sound of pleasure when Steve would bring him to orgasm, followed by a loud sob. A second audio accompanied the first, revealing _Bucky’s broken, raspy, near illegible voice begging “God, please, more, baby . . .”_

Just a moment after Steve finished with that horrible round, a buzz sounded, alerting him to another message received. It was from the same number and this time a video indicator lit up. Steve stared at the icon for a few long moments with wide eyes, terrified of what video Rumlow could be sending. Releasing a deep, sobbing breath, the blond opened the video.

_Bucky knelt on the floor, looking up at the camera, his light steel-blue eyes wide and humiliated, though his pupils were blown with the aftermath of sex. Blood dripped from his mouth as he lifted his damaged right hand, raw, red, and twisted anew. Bucky used the back of his hand, fingers obviously not working right, to push his bloody hair from his eyes, revealing a gash down his temple._

_Rumlow’s voice, a nasty joyful sounding rasp, barked “what kind of punishment should you get, whore?”_

Steve cringed at the words, Bucky’s last panic attack so fresh in his mind. The brunet locking himself in his own closet, stating that he needed to be _punished_ for hurting Steve, for killing Fred. The detective’s chest tightened as his hatred for Rumlow drove him into near hysterics.

_Whimpering, Bucky scrambled forward a bit and begged in a raspy whisper, “please, fuck me raw . . . I wanna feel my . . . taste my blood on you . . . “_

_“Blood and your shit, too, freak,” Rumlow ordered. “Turn your fucking pretty ass around and take it, whore. Take your damn punishment for being such a piece of filth.”_

Clenching his jaw, Steve had stopped crying, his eyes hardened a he watched the scene play out in front of him. A cold, deep seeded hatred for the burly man in the video making his body tremble, his mind numb.

_Scrabbling awkwardly, Bucky turned and lifted his bruised, abused ass in the air. Then the camera wavered a bit as if being put down somewhere. The sight of Rumlow grabbing Bucky’s hips came into picture, and the man thrust into the brunet’s passage without prepping him. Bucky screamed, similar to the previous audio on the phone, and Rumlow fisted his hand, leaned forward, and slammed the younger brunet upside the head. “What do you say, whore?”_

_“God, please, more, baby . . .” Bucky begged hoarsely and Rumlow groaned, “You got that right, bitch.” A few seconds later, Rumlow reached out of frame then brought a cattle prod forward. He slid out of Bucky and slid the prod in, instead, setting it off._

Steve’s heart thumped heavily in his chest and his mind couldn’t comprehend the horrors being inflicted on his lover. The blond detective flinched at the electric hum of the cattle prod, the sound of the instrument meeting Bucky’s flesh would stay with Steve forever.

_The camera fumbled again, being brought around to Bucky’s face as the sound of the prod came loudly again. Bucky screamed, lifted his face, eyes dazed as he began to cum, humiliated and crying. He began to curl in on himself._

_Rumlow brought his prick back into camera view and laughed. “Now clean me, whore! Eat it all, you cocksucker!”_

_As Bucky uncurled and reached for Rumlow_ , the video clip stopped.

A text included with the clip said “That was fun. I’ll let him rest for a bit before I let him service me again. You picked a real winner this time, Rogers. Lot’s of staying power . . . loves this kind of stuff. You see that last load he shot? Damn fine bitch!”

Steve knew his hands shook, and he frantically exited out of the messages, dialing Bucky’s number. Holding the phone to his ear, Steve prayed that his lover would answer, that the messages sent by Rumlow weren’t real, that Bucky would be fine . . . safe. 

Bucky’s phone went straight to voicemail and Steve let out a small whimper. Dialing the number again, the blond ran over to his closet and pulled out the first shirt that he could reach. Getting the same result, Steve shook his head. _Bucky wasn’t answering!_

“No, no , no!” Steve mumbled. “Please . . . baby, pick up your damn phone!” The detective redialed Bucky again, only to immediately hear the brunet’s automatic voicemail pick up. “Sorry, busy. But wanna hear from you. Leave a message and I’ll call soon.”

Growling, Steve hurled the phone, unaware of where it landed, and pulled on his shirt. Slipping on his shoes, Steve stormed out his bedroom. The blond detective only had two things on his mind: save Bucky and kill Rumlow. 

**************

Wade and Peter walked out of their bedroom, hands entwined, and the scarred man looked around the common area with a small frown. “Where is everyone? Usually Bucky and Steve are up by now?” The mercenary commented as he led the smaller brunet towards the kitchen. 

Peter shrugged. “They were having sex until real early, if the sounds were anything,” the younger brunet flushed. “Maybe they’re seeping in?”

Surprisingly, Clint sat on a chair in the common room again, as seemed to be an early morning habit of his. This time he had a plate of donuts and a pot of coffee close to hand. “Bucky left real early this morning. Steve left a few hours after.” He sipped his coffee and continued to read the paper.

“Either one say where they were going? It’s not like them to leave separately.” Wade’s frown deepened, a uneasy feeling making his stomach churn.

Clint looked up and shook his head. “Actually, I didn’t hear anything. Turned on my aids a few minutes ago to listen for Nat if she woke up. She had a bad night, sick and all with the baby, so I left her sleeping in.” The ex-cop shifted around to look at the mix-matched pair.

“Jarvis?” Wade called.

“Yes, sir?” JARVIS responded neutrally, pleasant sounding.

“Help us out here? Where are the two lovebirds at?” Wade asked, his voice not matching his light-natured words.

“Sergeant Barnes left around 0400 hours and took the bodyguard Scott Lang with him as well as a taser. He did not inform me where he went to but did leave a note. Captain Rogers took the note to his room, answered messages on his phone, then left in a hurry. He also did not say where he went.” After a heartbeat or two, JARVIS added, “Sergeant Barnes seemed sad but calm. Captain Rogers seemed agitated and his heart raced.”

Wade let go of Peter’s hand and ran towards Steve’s room. The uneasy feeling only growing, something wasn’t right.

Peter followed. Clint leapt over the back of the couch, ignoring his spilled plate and cup, and sprinted after them. “Think he left the note at least?” Clint asked.

Shaking his head, Wade opened the door to the detective’s room and immediately saw a piece of paper lying discarded by the bed. Leaning over to pick up the note, Wade shook his head as he read the words, before handing the paper over to Clint. “Steve could have taken that note’s meaning in so many different ways.”

Perusing the paper, Clint groaned. “It’d be easier if we knew what messages he got on his phone.” He checked his watch. “It’s afternoon now. I saw Fury sneaking around downstairs . . . think he took off for the precinct now that Fisk’s behind bars. And the lawyers went to court early to organize their new case and meet with the new judge. Sam and Riley still aren’t back.”

“So who the hell was messaging Steve?” Wade muttered, tone far away as if the mercenary were lost in thought. 

Slipping the note out of Clint’s hand, Peter read the message and frowned. “I think he wouldn’t be visiting an ex would he? I mean, him and Steve seem to be working things out okay.” the youth looked up. “Maybe Bucky’s the one that called him?

“Then why would Steve be leaving lookin’ agitated?” Wade asked, not at all convinced that it had been Bucky talking to Steve. 

Clint shook his head, pushing his blond hair from his eyes. “Well, we still got Sharon and Tony hanging around. Maybe one of them can add to our diluted brain trust?” He turned and headed for the bedrooms, calling, “Nat? Babe? We got trouble in paradise again.”

With a sigh, Peter looked at his boyfriend. “Maybe if we call Steve or Bucky?”

Natasha groaned softly as she opened the door, dark circles hung under her eyes, and her skin looked pale and clammy, “When don’t we? What’s wrong?”

“Wade’s got his panties in a bunch over Steve and Bucky leaving hours apart. Apparently Steve wasn’t happy when he left, either. Bucky took off around four this morning.” With a shrug, Clint sighed. “I guess I didn’t think how unusual that might be, seeing he used to do that all the time last year.”

Leaning against the door jam, Nat braced herself as another wave of nausea passed through her. 

Frowning, Clint sighed. “Never mind. I can handle this. You go back to bed . . . and take that damn med the doc gave you!” He reached out and stroked her hand gently.

Natasha scowled, not used to feeling useless, “Remind me to never let you knock me up again. This is horrible . . . come get me if something really is wrong, okay?” 

“Sure thing. And you didn’t let me do anything. If I recall, your antibiotic knocked out the contraceptive.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead then turned and walked to Sharon’s door, knocking loudly. “Yo, wake up call. It’s noon and we’re doing an unofficial head count!”

Natasha grumbled under her breath and then shut the door.

Clint heard two voices from behind Sharon’s door, one male and one female; Sharon called out, “Christ, Barton!” After a pause, she added, “put some clothes on! I am not opening the door while you’re still naked!”

Amused, Clint looked down at his plaid pajamas and knew she had to be talking to Tony. However, ever up for fun, Clint called back, “sorry. Didn’t mean to do patrol without full uniform. Shall I run back to my closet and get a shirt, too, or just my undies?”

Sharon released an exasperated sigh and threw open the door, dressed in a large t-shirt and a pair of boxers, only to give Clint a cold glare, “What is it, Barton? Seriously? This couldn’t wait?” 

Tony snickered, a blanket covering him from the waist down at least.

Drawing a deep breath, Clint said, quite calmly, “Bucky left at four a.m. then Steve got up and glanced over his note, which was a bit inflammatory if read by a self-doubting oversized lug, and ripped out of here at about eight. Now it’s noon and Wade is worried since we’ve heard nothing from either of them.”

Body tensing slightly, Sharon shook her head, “Can we not have one day without these two giving us all ulcers?”

With a shrug, Clint continued, “The lawyer party went to work, the counselor duo isn’t back yet, and Fury snuck off playing cop or something. So, we’re down to you and Tony, Wade and Peter, and me, since Nat’s taking a sick day.”

“Tony, babe, please tell me you got a tracker on Bucky’s cell or something.” Sharon pinched the bridge of her nose and released a deep sigh. 

“Sure do. If his phone’s on, we can find him.” Tony slid out of bed, completely nude, and reached for his pants. “And I’ve got one built into his arm that he might not remember giving me permission to add when he first came to live with me.” Looking smug, Tony zipped up and turned to the pair. “So, we gonna play bloodhound or ask the staff where he is?”

Clint flushed. “Didn’t think of that. Would Happy know where he went?”

Rolling his eyes and walking to the door, caressing his hand under Sharon’s shirt across the back of her thighs, Tony said “if any of my drivers took Bear outta here, they’d have logged it with Happy.”

“Well, let’s go ask Happy then.” Sharon grumbled, she had been having a good morning with Tony, and of course, it had been interrupted.

“Go? You mean go down and talk to Happy? Sounds exhausting.” Tony strode from the room and towards the elevator nonetheless. “Hey, Wadey, gonna help me find my bear?”

Nodding, Wade walked over to where Tony stood, “I hope I’m wrong about this. But something ain’t right. It ain’t like either of them to leave without telling someone where they were going.”

JARVIS interrupted, “Mr. Hogan is on his way up, sirs, ma’am.”

Reaching over to pluck the note from Peter’s hand, Tony looked it over. “Well, how many ex’s does he have? We can try calling them?”

“We don’t think he’s talkin’ about an ex. Him and Steve were having a good night last night . . .” Wade trailed off a if lost in thought.

“Well, who else would be an old flame for Buckers unless he means you? You’re the only fire victim he hangs with, right?” Tony asked without looking up.

Wade’s eyes narrowed.

Peter rolled his eyes and grabbed his boyfriend’s hand. “Tony, that’s rude.”

“But, unfortunately, relevant,” Clint said.

“Oh! Shit!” Wade’s eyes widened, his back straightening. “I think I might know where he went! Why didn’t I think of it sooner?” The bald man shook his head and released an aggravated sigh, how could he have not realized it sooner?

“Burn ward?” Tony glanced over. “Fire house? Olympic torch site?”

“For a genius . . . ya ain’t that smart, Stark.” Wade grumbled shaking his head.

“Well, you said no lovers, so I’m trying to figure out the word flame, okay?” Tony grumbled.

“His old unit!” Wade offered with a slight bite in his tone, not feeling up to dealing with the snarky inventor right now.

“Aren’t they deceased?” Peter asked hesitantly. “How come he’d say he’s visiting an old flame if he’s going to a cemetery?”

“Arlington,” Clint said.”The flame for the unknowns. The one at Kennedy’s tomb. He’s visiting Arlington, isn’t he, Wade?”

“Yeah,” Wade nodded, “That’s where our unit, The Howlin’ Commandos, were buried.”

Tony nodded. “Well, that certainly is an old flame. Been burning for years.” He offered the note to thin air, as if wishing it would just disappear now that he had finished with it. “So, we know where Bucky went. But blue-eyes? Would he have been smart enough to figure that out?”

“JARVIS said Steve was agitated and that his heart rate was high,” Wade started but stopped when the elevator doors opened. 

The elevator opened and Happy stepped out. He looked worried, frowning slightly, hearing the tail end of Wade’s comment. “You mean the Captain, sir? He took his car and headed out in a hurry, growling the entire time. I think he’s angry . . . thought he might’ve been summoned by Captain Fury, since that’s how angry he was.”

“Bucky went to Virginia, didn’t he Happy?” Tony asked.

“Yes,” Happy replied, frowning lightly. “Lang said they went to the National Cemetery. They’re almost back, due about twelve thirty or one.”

The inventor looked smug, as if he solved that part of the puzzle himself.

“We need to get a hold of Steve.” Sharon stated, rolling her eyes at Tony’s behavior.

Clint pulled out his phone and dialed Steve’s number, waiting to see where the GPS locater would mark Steve when he answered. The ex-cop had an automatic GPS app linkedin to anyone he spoke to. A faint buzz came from Steve’s room, and Clint lifted his head.

Sharon tilted her head, “That can’t be his phone. Steve never leaves without his phone.” 

“Yeah. He might miss a call from Bucky,” Clint added but walked to the detective’s room any way. He dialed again. The buzz came again, louder to the ex-cop, who frowned. “Think it’s his phone, Carter,” he called back.

Sharon shook her head and entered the room, a worried expression on her face. A third buzzing, due to Clint calling yet again, sounded from the bed before it went silent, obviously going to message yet again. The blond FBI agent bent down and looked under the bed.

Watching, Clint chose that moment to dial again, setting the phone to buzz once more.

Grabbing the vibrating phone just as the buzz shut back off, Sharon rose to her feet and held it out for the others to see, “We may have a problem. This isn’t like him at all.” She shook her head again, concern etched onto her fine features.

“May?” Clint frowned. “Damn. Do we have his password at least? JARVIS said he’s been answering messages before he lost it. May not have been the note at all that sent him off.”

“I don’t know his password. We never got to sharing phone passwords.” Sharon looked down at the phone in her hand, frowning. She worried about her ex-boyfriend, she knew that Steve tended to rush into things without thinking first, and with Rumlow still on the loose that could prove to be very dangerous.

“Unsafe habit anyway,” Peter answered absently, staring at the innocuous looking phone. “Maybe he shared with Bucky or Sam?” he added.

“Oh, let me play with it?” Tony begged, brown eyes lighting at the chance to break into Steve’s phone.

“Tony, we should at least try to talk to Bucky or Sam first before we let you tinker with it.” Sharon shot her lover a look. 

Reaching over, Clint slid the phone from Sharon’s grasp. “Steve’s a great guy, but not the brightest at self protection. I might be able to guess his password while someone tries the others.” And he flicked his finger over the phone only to pause and roll his eyes. “Got it. No password set.” Clint shook his head at Steve’s absent-mindedness.

“What were the last messages sent to him?” Sharon asked, looking over Clint’s shoulder down at the screen.

“Looks like four came in unknown numbers. Just a minute. Got a really bad juju from this.” Clint frowned fiercely and looked at Sharon. “Be nice and go get your partner from bed. I think she’s gonna wanna see this. Her meds shoulda kicked in by now.” Clint’s thumb hovered over the call icon, but he didn’t press it. Instead, he led the eager group back out of Steve’s room to the common area, sitting far away from the mess he’d made and hadn’t yet cleaned up.

Sharon nodded and ran off to go get her partner.

Tony frowned. “Donuts and coffee don’t work with beige, guys,” he grumbled.

Nat and Sharon walked into the room a few moments later, Natasha looked tired but her eyes shone with concern for her friend.

As soon as the women settled, Clint leaned forward so the small group of seven could all see the screen clearly, but Tony called, “wait. Let me hook it up to the main screen so we don’t miss anything? Please?”

Clint gave the dark-haired inventor an odd stare but looked to Nat for clearance, since it could be . . . he hoped not . . . related to the FBI case still open.

The red haired FBI agent gave her husband a curt nod, allowing him to play the video.

“Yes!” Tony snatched Steve’s phone eagerly and brought out a couple of wires. He messed around for all of two minutes before handing the phone, attached by simple USB cord, to the main computer. “Fire away, Cupid.”

“You’re a freak, Stark,” Clint said calmly then flicked on the first of the four messages.

“Son of a fucking bitch!” Wade snapped when the picture popped up on the screen. “Fuckin’ hell!” The scarred man turned his head to look away, trying to give his former Sergeant some respect of privacy, even if the brunet wasn’t currently in the room.

Happy gulped, hand going over his mouth, eyes widening at the site of his charge. He choked and read the text out loud for everyone “Heya, lover. Thanks for letting the babe back out of the crib. I appreciate the playmate.” He shook his head. “That’s . . . sick . . .” The bodyguard’s voice shook as he tried to mentally deny that Bucky could be in that picture . . .he’d spoken to Scott not half an hour ago and the other guard had said everything was fine.

Nat’s eyes hardened, “Next one, Clint.” She ordered not taking her eyes off the screen.

Pale, Clint nodded and flicked the next message on, revealing the next picture. In a hard voice he read the accompanying text “the driver's not as pretty as he was, but nothing beats my Love-Bucky here,” then cringed, hands going to his ears as Bucky’s scream ripped through the room. “Good Lord almighty!”

“Imma fucking kill him!” Wade ground out, hands balling into fists. 

Happy sank to the couch. “That can’t be real. Scott said they were fine half an hour ago.”

Sharon closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke, “Go on, next one.” Her voice shook.

“Thought I’d share,” Clint read the next message, flicking up the third picture on the big screen.

By then, Tony looked about ready to pass out, eyes almost as huge as Peter’s.

Wade stared at the image; his stomach lurched and his world spun. Rumlow couldn’t have Bucky again . . . he’d promised to keep his Sergeant safe.

“Do we have to look at the last one?” Tony gasped.

“Yes.” Natasha muttered, eyes burning with tears and she looked at the fear in her best friend’s eyes; Bucky hadn’t told her much of what Rumlow had been truly capable of . . . how dark and twisted the man was. 

“But I’ve had enough,” the inventor whined, closing his eyes.

Without much sympathy for the man who’d wanted to view these private hell notes on a big screen, Clint flicked to the video that came next.

“I can’t fucking watch this!” Wade snapped and turned away, covering his ears to shield himself from the noises that accompanied the video.

Voice sounding as deadly calm as ever a soldier’s could, Clint read the last text “That was fun. I’ll let him rest for a bit before I let him service me again. You picked a real winner this time, Rogers. Lot’s of staying power . . . loves this kind of stuff. You see that last load he shot? Damn fine bitch!”

Tony ran from the room, hand pressed over his mouth and skin pale.

“His hair.” Natasha murmured softly.

Peter nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered, “I thought something was wrong. You’re right. And that head injury is where his scar is now, right?”

“These are from the first attack.” Natasha stated, her tone sad but slightly relieved. If these videos were old . . . then it was quite possible that Rumlow didn’t have Bucky, that he’d just been egging Steve on with the videos of Bucky’s first attacks.

“The only, I hope,” Happy muttered.

The sound of the elevator rang through the still room, and the doors slid open on the group of horrified viewers and the frozen image of Bucky in all his degradation up on the big screen. Bucky, exiting the elevator, froze at the image, eyes widening and skin paling immediately. Sounding sick and disbelieving, he gasped “what the fuck?”

“Bucky! Turn it off, Clint!” Natasha ordered sharply as she turned to head towards her friend.

Fumbling the phone, the blond ex-cop managed to get the image to shut down. Quietly, Clint asked, “so, Buck, you haven’t seen Steve recently, right? I think he went looking for you when Rumlow sent that love letter you accidentally witnessed.”

“Steve . . . saw that?” Bucky’s voice sounded as pale as his face.

“He’s missing, Bucky. He left his phone here. . . no one knows where he went.” Natasha said as she stepped closer to the brunet.

“Missing?” Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Rumlow, that fucking freak, sent him a picture of me being tortured and you guys have _‘no idea’_ where the fuck he went?” Bucky rolled his eyes and whirled towards his room. “Fucking morons! He went to Rumow’s house! Where else would he go but to erase any memory of that time? I’d go there if he had been the one tortured and I found out there were pictures!” Bucky disappeared into his room, the sound of him dragging something coming from the room.

“Lucky he didn’t see the rest,” Clint whispered.

Wade followed Bucky towards the room, he didn’t enter the room but he knew the dragging sound from anywhere, “We going to get the asshole, Sarge?”

Sitting back on his heels, a rifle in his metal hand and a look of cold anger on his fine features, Bucky reached into the bag for some shells. “Fuck yeah, private. He’s gonna burn in hell.”

**********

Speeding through a red light, sirens on, Steve clenched his hands tightly around the steering wheel as he stared, with steely determination, out of the windshield. The picture and video of Bucky being raped and tortured replayed in his mind, over and over again. The shrill screams and cries of his lover haunted his ears, the brunet’s wrecked voice as he had been forced to beg for punishment, begged to be hurt. 

Steve whipped around the corner that lead into the small suburb where Rumlow’s house, that he’d shared with his, now deceased, ex-wife, sat. The house stood at the end of a cul de sac, the remnants of the yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the wind, the weeds completely overtook the front lawn and the paint on the house seemed to chip away even more since the last time he’d seen it. 

The detective slammed on the brakes, the tires squealing unhappily against the pavement. Steve ran out of the still-running car and up to the front door. The blond kicked in the door, not even seeing if it’d been locked, and ran into the home.

The echo of Bucky’s scream, followed by his desperate begging for more punishment exploded from down the hall, where he’d been kept the year previously.

Realizing just now, he hadn’t brought anything to help protect himself with, Steve gritted his teeth and pushed forward; too far gone to even think about turning back. 

Bucky’s voice, broken with pain and lust, exploded again, the sound of him cumming echoing in the practically abandoned building. It was followed quickly by the reporter’s raspy pleas of “thank you . . .” to his captor.

Steve stormed down the hall, his hands clenched tightly in fists and stopped at the same door to the room Bucky had been kept in nearly a year ago. His whole body trembled with adrenaline and anger, wanting nothing more than to kill the man who was causing Bucky so much pain.

Almost eerily tinny sounding, Bucky’s voice begging for more came through from the closet.

Bucky’s voice sprung the detective into action; surging forward, Steve opened the door and froze at the sight of a laptop sitting in the otherwise empty closet, playing the video of Bucky being raped. The blond stepped further into the room and noticed the filth and blood stains on the floor, and even Bucky’s torn clothing from the year before, but no signs of the reporter or Rumlow . . . just a recording of a brutal rape a feed that counted down as it played, the indicator flashing another three hours of play on the video.

Whirling around to look at the entrance of the bedroom, the horrendous sounds of Bucky being assaulted echoing throughout the room, Steve suddenly realized the whole thing had been a trap. The video was of the attack from the year before; Steve had fallen for it, hook . . . line . . . and sinker. 

Eyes narrowed and his whole body tensed, as Steve heard the heavy thumping of footsteps of the man covered in body armor approach the room.. Suddenly, like a nightmare out of the dark, the familiar bulk of Crossbones stopped in the bedroom door, blocking Steve’s exit.

“Heya, lover,” he rasped in a low chuckle. “How’s fucking my toy been going for you? He miss me? Beg for me?”

“You’re sick, Rumlow.” Steve growled, pulling his body into a defensive stance.

“And you’re predictable, ass fucker,” he shot back, pulling out a combat knife. “So, wonder where I’ve put him this time? If that’s a live feed?”

“You don’t have him,” Steve snapped, teeth bared. 

“You sure about that? I’ve got a fallout shelter left over from the cold war, you know. Just cause I’m a sucker for home movies don’t mean I ain’t making more.” Brock flipped up his mask, leering. “And you know, he’s real pretty, looks fresh outta school with that short hair and those big grey eyes looking up at me as he takes my cock in his mouth.”

“Shut up!” The detective shouted, launching himself forward to attack the larger man. He may not have a weapon, but there was no way Rumlow would be leaving this house in anything other than a body bag. 

Rumlow pulled out a gun and held it ready, swiping at Steve with the long-bladed serrated knife. He sidled out of the way of the angry detective. “Or you wanna take it up the ass again, Cap? You miss me?”

Dodging the blade, Steve eyed the gun warily. “What happened to you, Brock?” The blond asked as he back stepped, cautiously, keeping his eyes focused on the gun.

“What happened? Why, you made me everything I am today, Cap. You fucked me, and left me when I wasn’t pretty enough anymore.” He growled low, aiming the gun. “This time, I’m gonna make sure your cute boy ain’t so pretty when I finish with him.”

“You aren’t laying another finger on him, Rumlow!” Steve growled, menacingly. 

“Hey, you know he likes to be dominated, right?” Rumlow taunted, leering again. “Gets him real hard and wet.”

The detective moved forward again, in an attempt to disarm the armored man in front of him.

Crossbones didn’t hesitate; he shot his former commanding officer.

Stumbling as the tip of the tranquilizer dart lodge itself into the right side of his chest; Steve instantly felt the effects of the dart. Falling to his knees as his vision tunneled. “Coward.” The blond mumbled as he fell to his side; Steve’s arms and legs felt like they were filled with lead.

“Plaything,” countered Rumlow with a menacing laugh. “I am so looking forward to fucking you up the ass again.”

Steve looked up at Rumlow with the coldest glare he could muster before his eyes drooped shut. 

************

Groaning loudly, Steve’s head felt like it was going to split in two. Slowly his senses came back to him one by one. First the deafening silence of the room around him, then the feeling of a cold, hard surface below him. The detective hands weren’t bound, his face lying on a crusty old spot of reddish brown.

Opening his eyes, slowly, Steve could see the laptop still sat in the corner of the small, filth stained closet. The dull light of the screensaver flashed through the room, silent and sickening, a series of still shots from Bucky’s captivity. In the flickering light of the laptop, claw marks and pound marks were still evident on the floor and in the door. Obviously, Rumlow had never cleaned up after the rescues.

Steve looked down at himself and saw that his clothes were still fully intact, and aside from the splitting headache from the tranquilizer, he could not detect any injuries whatsoever. A sudden, terrifying, thought entered his mind. He had no idea how long he’d been out for, and with him locked away in the closet, Rumlow had free reign to go after Bucky. _What if Brock already has Bucky?_

That thought forced Steve to his hands and knees, the sudden movement causing the detective to gasp quietly in pain as his head pounded. After a few moments, the blond rose, shakily, to his feet and stepped up to the door. His hand pushed against the solid surface and his mind instantly thought of how Bucky had probably done the same thing when he’d woken up in this closet. Closing his eyes, Steve took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down; there would be no way for him to get out if he couldn’t think straight. 

A small chime sound came from the laptop, an alarm of some sort, and the screen saver switched to an active desktop as if it had been on a timer. The cursor started moving, controlled by remote, and hovered over a file marked ‘Roger.’ Then the document highlighted briefly and a photograph opened on the screen: a shot of Steve’s bedroom in the tower, with Bucky standing in the bathroom door laughing at something. The angle of the shot came directly from Steve’s own laptop, but the outfit Bucky wore was the one from the day before.

“You were watching us . . .” Steve murmured, eying the screen intently, “You son of a bitch . . .” 

A slow text message scrolled, one letter at a time, across the screen. ‘A … I . . . N . . . T . . . I . . . N . . . T . . . E . . . R . . . N . . . E . . . T . . . G . . . R . . . E . . . A . . . T . . . ?’

Steve swallowed hard and shook his head; he needed to get out of here. If Rumlow could figure out how to bug his laptop, which had been monitored by Stark himself, then Rumlow could maybe disable Stark’s security system. If Crossbones could do that . . . he could get to Bucky. 

Another chime sounded and the cursor moved slowly across the screen once more, heading for the big E internet icon. It pressed down and the browser page opened, botting slowly, indicating difficulty getting an outside connection. Finally, the cursor moved again to a social networking site. It hovered over the ‘upload photos’ tool button.

Lurching forward, Steve began to frantically hit the keys on the laptop. He feared Rumlow meant to upload the many photos of Bucky he had taken while he had him in captivity. “No . . . No . . . no. You’re not going to do this . . . you sick fucking bastard!” Steve ground out as he tried to exit out of the browser.

As if fighting Steve’s gibberish that started to clog the computer’s memory and functionality, the cursor struggle to move towards a photo folder marked ‘playtime.’ Finally, the cursor indicator clicked on the folder and it opened, revealing still shot after still shot of Bucky’s torture . . . the number of photos in the folder numbered into the thousands. Again, the cursor struggled, moving towards one with Bucky bent over and the cattle prod inside him, cum leaking out of his abused member.

“No!” Steve shouted, fingers hitting against the keys in an attempt to slow the processor down. The detective really wished he’d taken the computer seminar that the NYPD had offered a few years ago, he had no idea how to stop this.

The cursor shot to the bottom corner of the screen and merely flashed there, like a sick heartbeat. Shortly, the sound of heavy, angry boot strikes came into the outer room where the closet sat. “If you ain’t gonna play nice, I’ll use a knife on his beautiful ass! Leave my fucking cursor alone!”

“You’re not getting away with this, Rumlow!” Steve shouted back, still trying anything to shut the browser down. 

“Oh, I’m so fucking scared Dudley Doright! Now get your grubby hands of my mousepad!” Rumlow apparently turned and stomped back down the hallway. A long minute later, the mouse cursor moved towards a different file folder, marked R-fucker. He clicked it open, after a struggle, and revealed more photos. These were shots taken from Steve’s laptop, of Bucky and Steve in bed together . . . making love, cuddling, and just plain sleeping. The imaged, if Bucky knew about them, would most likely send the reporter over the edge, since it revealed that even the bedroom wasn’t safe.

Furiously, Steve’s fingers flew over the keys; doing anything he could think of to shut it down. “God dammit! Stop! Stop!” 

He chose one of Bucky cumming, Steve behind him, arms wrapped around him. It might have been considered a beautiful, intimate shot, if it had been taken with consent by the couple.

Suddenly, the indicator stopped and a text box showed up. “Stop pressing buttons, you fuckign hack! You’ll mess up my laptop!”

“Fucking crazy son of a bitch!” Steve gritted his teeth, trying to remember any commands that could possible help. The blond detective’s hand moved to the mousepad, wrestling with Rumlow over the control of the cursor.

After several intense power-struggle-filled moments, the cursor moved easily in Steve’s complete control. However, the sound of heavy steps came closer, stomping towards the closet. “You fucking freak! I shoulda never left my toy in there for you to enjoy. I’m gonna make you regret it!”

“Come in and make me!” Steve snapped back, however, his eyes didn’t leave the screen as he typed out a message on the social media site already opened in front of him. The message simply read; _‘help. Rumlow home.’_

Immediately a text message typed back “Captain, there is help on its way. Keep him off balance. J.”

Sighing with relief, Steve smiled, turning to look over his shoulder the blond shouted. “C’mon you bastard! Show me how tough you are! Or are you too scared?”

The closet door swung open so hard, it hit the concrete wall and bounced back, only to be slammed open once more by a very angry Rumlow in full body armor. “OKay, fuck up, You are so gonna regret touching my stuff!” He lifted his tranquilizer gun.

Steve shot up from where he crouched down in front of the laptop and connected hard with Rumlow’s body. 

The kidnapper and murdered stumbled backwards under the force of Steve’s entire weight. He didn’t lose his footing, hands coming up to grasp for Steve’s throat, gun dropping to the floor. With a roar of rage behind his mask, Rumlow began trying to toss Steve into walls.

Body colliding hard with the wall, Steve felt the back of his head smack against the surface with a loud _thud_ , temporally dazing the detective. The blond quickly recovered and launched himself at Rumlow again, arms wrapping around the other man’s waist; Steve used his full weight to attempt to knock Rumlow off his feet.

Growling, and staggering, Rumlow’s back hit the bedroom wall as he staggered from the closet. “You fucking mother ass wipe!” he screamed his fury at his old commanding officer. Kicking his foot up, he slammed the boot hard into Steve’s stomach and followed with another aimed for the crotch.

Barely missing the second kick, Steve stumbled back, doubled over from the hard kick to the stomach, his breath escaping his lungs in a solid rush of air. 

Balling both fists together into one fist, Brock brought his hands down hard on the back of Steve’s neck. “I am so gonna fuck you up the ass. Wanna hear you beg for it like the old days, Captian Camp Whore!” He pulled out a knife and crouched defensively.

Collapsing to his knees by the force of the blow to the back of his neck, Steve coughed as air finally seemed to find its way back into his lungs again. The blond wavered on his knees, completely disoriented as his eyes couldn’t seem to focus on anything.

WIth a laughed, Brock slammed another hard fist against Steve’s head, knocking the detective sideways into the cement wall. He utilized the serrated blade to begin slicing off Steve’s clothes, not caring if he nicked the skin. “Yeah, you’re gonna take it hard and beg just like the boy toy did. Once he got Steve’s shirt off, Rumlow backed off with a grin, eyeing the blond’s toned body. He licked his lips. “Sure did miss you, Rogers.”

Reaching out, Rumlow ran a surprisingly gentle hand down Steve’s shoulder then suddenly pulled his hand back and slapped Steve hard, sending him reeling into the wall once more. “Fuckin’ ditch me in the hospital, you asshole! I had no one, nothing. I couldn’t even breath without a machine, and you decide to go frolocking off to your next piece of ass. That’s all I was, huh, Rogers? A fuckin’ easy piece of ass! Well,” he slammed the blond’s head again, Steve having trouble even lifting his arms in defense, “I’m gonna give it to you like you gave it to me, Rogers! I’m gonna take all the ass I want and leave you in the hospital begging for someone, anyone to even stop and say hello. And then I’m gonna send your boy toy to the morgue . . . after I fuck his cold, dead body.” 

“You . . . your wife . . . I knew you . . . had a wife.” Steve murmured, he could feel blood trickle from the corner of his mouth.

“Nice excuse, Rogers. Like a friend can’t visit without others thinking there’s sex going on? My wife wouldn’t have even considered it. Nah, you took the chance to just ditch me when you could. Just like that fucking slut.” Rumlow slammed him again, the knife slipping slightly and nicking Steve’s temple.

Hissing as the blade sliced his skin, Steve looked up at Rumlow, “I’m . . . sorry. I shouldn’t have . . . left you . . . alone.” Steve’s head swarmed and his vision blurred before focusing again. Blood poured down from the cut on his temple, coating the side of his face. 

Rumlow paused, looking like he actually considered the apology. Finally, he shrugged. “And don’t that make it all better? Not visiting me while I’m in a fuckload of pain and loneliness in the hospital . . .hey, I hear you did the same thing to your new fucked up charity fuck case, too. Left him going nuts in a hospital as they messed with his meds and toyed with his mind.” Nodding, Rumlow said, “yeah, an apology so much later makes everything all fucking right, don’t it?” He swung at Steve, deliberately nicking his cheek this time.

Steve moved to shove his attacker away, but the multiple blows to the head had made his movements sluggish. The detective knew he needed to keep distracting Rumlow, but he couldn’t do that if he let the other man kill him. “You’re . . . a coward, Rumlow.”

“Me? A coward?” He growled at his victim. “I fucking served my country, asshole. I faced a bomb!” He swung at Steve’s chest this time, flicking the blade in a twisting motion to maximize damage if he made contact.

The detective lurched out of the way, the knife barely missing his skin and hitting the wall behind him. Steve, as quick as he could, got to his hands and knees in an attempt to get back to his feet; his limbs shook and his head pounded heavily, making his vision blur again.

Rumlow swore, shaking his hand at the mini-shock from striking the cement. He kicked out at Steve’s nude abdomen.

Steve grabbed the armored boot and tugged it with all the strength he could muster, trying to get an upper hand on his fight. While his hands were occupied, Rumlow threw his weight into the other man, landing on him. He started trying to repeatedly punch and stab Steve, fighting erratically.

The detective’s breath rushed out of his body again, but he was able to throw up his hands in a small attempt to block the blows. The blond felt the knife slice into the skin of his forearms as he deflected the blade. Blood loss made the detective’s stomach lurch and black dots form in his vision. Steve knew enough to know he was losing, that within a few minutes he wouldn’t have the strength to fight off Rumlow anymore. 

With a vile laugh, Rumlow lifted the knife, aiming towards Steve’s head and neck. Rumlow glared, flicking his mask off yet again. The malignant triumphant on the man’s scarred face mirrored his evil intent. “Gonna fuck your dead corpse before I send it to your toy in pieces!” he screamed.

The sound of a single shot rang out and Rumlow paused, a stunned look on his face as blood drained from his face, a small hole burned into his unprotected forehead. The kidnapper toppled sideways, and a large, tennis-ball sized blow out at the back of his head indicated the exit wound for a well placed bullet. The knife remained in his hand, locked in a death grip.  
Steve tried to raise himself up on his forearms but collapsed, blood still flowing freely from the multiple knife wounds. 

Clint moved into the room with Wade, intent on providing assistance. However, for a moment they separated enough so Steve, lying on the floor, could see straight through the bedroom and into the hall, where Bucky lay on the floor, a rifle braced in his metal arm, a frown on his face.

“Bucky . . .” Steve breathed a small smile gracing his pale face, the sight of his lover alive and uninjured, not locked up in some bunker, made his heart swell with happiness. “Bucky . . .” 

“It’s okay, Steve,” Bucky called from his position in the hall, not getting closer to that dark closet he still had nightmares about. “Let them help you. I’ll join you in the ambulance.” He sat up, cradling the rifle as he watched Rumlow’s lifeless body for a long moment then turned his attention back to Steve, relief in his pale eyes.

“Bucky . . .” Steve whispered again before his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Unconsciousness finally taking over the detective’s bloodied and bruised body.


	16. Picking up the Pieces

The first things that came back to Steve were the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the whir of machinery surrounding him. The detective could feel someone holding his hand, rubbing his knuckles softly. Eyes still closed, Steve groaned slightly as the pain in his head seemed to come back into focus. “Bucky . . .” He murmured, voice low and heavy with the pain medication.

“Right here, Stevie,” Bucky whispered beside his injured lover, sitting on the uncomfortable chair. He held Steve’s hand in his right, carefully, methodically running his thumb over the bruised knuckles.

Opening his eyes slowly, wincing at the sudden onslaught of light, Steve turned his head and smiled weakly at Bucky. “Hey . . .” The detective muttered, his eyes half lidded. 

Smiling, the brunet said “Hey, back. You’ll recover. I hear Fury is giving you the day and expects you back at work tomorrow,” he joked lightly.

Smiling again, Steve let out a small laugh, only to wince at the twinge of pain the movement seemed to cause. The blond looked up at his boyfriend, “You’re safe,” Steve mumbled, almost incoherently. The medication pumping through his system dulled the detective’s senses; all he could seem to focus on was his lover sitting by his side. 

Stretching his cramping shoulders, he’d been sitting by his lover for some time, Bucky nodded. “Yeah, about that . . . I got back from Arlington to find you’d gotten nastygrams from the dickwipe. Why didn’t you ask Clint for help or something? He was in the common room, Steve.” Bucky’s voice vibrated with the after effects of his worry and fear.

“I . . . needed . . . save you.” Steve said, he moved his free hand, his arms wrapped tightly in bandages, to stroke his thumb across Bucky’s cheekbone. “Couldn’t . . . let ‘im hurt . . . you.”

“Dummy,” Bucky stroked his cheek against the thumb, eyes closing. He sighed. “Backup, Steve. If you can’t learn to ask for backup, I’m going to have to get nasty and ask you to change professions. Maybe force you to draw comics or something.” Bucky opened his eyes again and looked down at his injured boyfriend. “Don’t wanna lose you to your foolish need to run into danger.”

Steve smiled weakly, he could feel the drugs were already beginning to pull him under again, “My . . . everything. Love . . you, Buck.”

“Goof ball,” Bucky whispered in exasperation. He leaned over and carefully kissed Steve’s lips. “I love you, too, hero. Get some sleep so I can yell at you later.”

“You . . . love . . . me,” Steve parroted quietly before letting his eyes slip shut again.

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed, “I love you, Steve Rogers.”

*************

Wade kissed Peter’s collarbone as they laid in bed, having been sent home from the hospital by Bucky. The mercenary propped himself up on his forearms to look up at the young journalist, “You okay, Baby-Boy?”

Peter sat up on the bed and tugged his shirt straight from where it had rucked around during their kissing. He shrugged and looked towards the window, large brown eyes troubled. “Yeah, I guess,” he answered softly.

Frowning, Wade shifted so he sat up fully so he could look at his lover, “What’s wrong? Everyone is safe . . . that asshole is gone. Fisk is going to prison . . . yet . . . you seem upset?”

With a sigh, the youth fiddled with his watch, eyes not even seeing what he played with. “I . . . I guess I’ll go home before it gets dark . . . you know, so Aunt May doesn’t worry about me out after dark.”

“If that’s what you want . . . I’ll walk you.” Wade murmured as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, still frowning. Why had he been stupid enough to think Peter would stick around once everything was over? Wade couldn’t offer anything to the brunet, aside from maybe nightmares.

Peter let go of his watch. He took a deep, shaking breath and willed himself not to cry, keep it together. He wasn’t sure if he could even talk without giving away his emotions. It wasn’t that he wanted anyone to be in danger or get hurt . . . but there had been something almost magical about the past three weeks. Slowly, Peter stood and had to grab the nightstand so he wouldn’t stumble as his eyes blurred. “I . . . “ he cleared his throat, “I. . . uh . . . I’ll get my things.” The end was barely a whisper.

Swallowing, Wade nodded firmly. He hated himself for letting Peter get to him . . . he should’ve known that someone as beautiful and pure as Peter wouldn’t want to stay with someone so . . . _ugly_. 

Stepping towards their joined bathroom, Petere stumbled again, and gave up, wiping at his eyes furiously so he could just see where he was going.

Noticing the younger man stumble and wipe at his face, Wade called out as he took a few steps towards the bathroom, “Peter? Y - - You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Peter gasped, fighting the sob and turning it into a body-wrenching hiccup. “Why . . . wouldn’t . . . I be?” He suddenly burst into a sprint for the bathroom, unable to fight the rush of overwhelming emotions. He sobbed, clasping the sink in both hands until his knuckles went white.

Wade ran in after the journalist and frowned at the sight of the other man crying, heart-wrenching sobs escaping Peter’s mouth. “Baby-Boy? Why are you crying?”

Peter shook his head. “No . . . I . . . I’m sorry . . .I’ll be . . . okay,” he whimpered. “I’m . . . sorry . . . don’t mean . . . to be such . . . a baby.” He wiped at his eyes again.

“You’re not a baby,” Wade said as he wrapped his arms around the brunet’s waist. “I mean . . . you my Baby-Boy . . . but you aren’t a baby . . . sorry . . . I’m rambling again.” The scarred man snapped his mouth shut.

Waving a hand, Peter choked, “nah . . . it’s . . . fine. I . . . should just . . . go . . . leave you . . . alone. Must . . . must be sick . . . of watching . . . out for my . . . useless ass.” He tried to push away from the sink but couldn’t do it.

“Hey . . . Peter, I need you to look at me,” Wade said firmly, letting go of the younger man’s waist.

Lifting his tear-washed brown eyes, Peter turned his head to look at Wade, hand covering his mouth to block a sudden sob.

“I could never get sick of you, Baby-Boy. I - - I love you,” Wade said, scarred hand reaching up to wipe a stray tear away from Peter’s cheek.

“Love . . . me?” Peter shook his head. “But I’m . . . I’m just in . . . the way.” He suddenly shuddered and turned in Wade’s arms. “I . . . I don’t . . . wanna . . .” he broke off, unable to say what he wanted, but unable to just leave.

“In the way? In the way of what?” Wade asked, his voice wavering slightly with emotion.

“Of finding . . . someone bet . . . better. I’m a . . . stupid col . . . col . . . college kid!” And Peter buried his face in Wade’s chest, giving in to his desire and feeling ashamed for dumping on Wade like this.

Wrapping his arms tightly around Peter’s slim shoulders, Wade kissed the top of the other man’s head and muttered, “There is no one better. You’re the best there is.”

Peter continued to cry, shaking his head against Wade’s chest, unable to answer in words.

“I’m no good for you, Peter. But I need you to know that you are the best . . . and I love you,” Wade whispered, wrapping his arms tighter around Peter’s shaking shoulders. 

“I . . . I . . .” Peter lifted his face, “I . . . love . . . you . . . Wade. . . . I’m . . . so . . . sorry.”

“Ssshh . . .” Wade cooed, caressing Peter’s face with his thumb, “It’s gonna be alright.” 

Nodding his head then shaking it, Peter sobbed again. He let his eyes close in misery and clung to Wade’s shoulders. Slowly, he began to wind down, until within a few minutes, Peter had subsided to the occasional hitch in his breathing, leaning his head on Wade’s chest and clinging with trembling arms.

“I’ll do whatever you want, Baby-Boy. If you want to leave . . . then I’ll let you . . . but I don’t want what we have to be over,” the mercenary said honestly.

“I don’t wanna leave!” Peter whispered fiercely, letting his head hang at the needy, desperate tones. He’d already cried all over Wade like some high schooler. Did the man need any more evidence to put him off? Peter had wanted to be as strong as Wade, but that hadn’t lasted more than a few seconds. And now he felt like the scared, love-sick little virgin he was.

“Then don’t,” Wade whispered back, running his fingers through the journalist’s hair. 

“But . . .” Peter lifted red-shot brown eyes, ‘but you’re gonna wanna move on with your life. And there’s no reason to hide out, so you don’t need to hang out with me anymore.” Peter’s fingers clutched lightly at the cloth of Wade’s shirt.

“I’m doing as you suggested, Peter. I’m going to reopen Fred’s range . . . I’m moving into his apartment in the basement . . . I want to do something good. But . . . but I need your help. I want you to help me . . . I know this is all so fast.”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Peter tried to get himself further under control. “Sure. I can help out. It’s great you wanna do that.” He couldn’t meet Wade’s eyes, but at least the older, more worldly man didn’t seem to want to kick him out totally. Yeah, he’d come to his senses soon and the kisses would stop . . . and everything Peter longed to do would never happen. But Peter should feel grateful that Wade would still be his friend.

“I don’t think you’re getting me, Baby-Boy. I’m asking you to move in with me.” Wade swallowed and looked at his lover intently, watching his face for his reaction.

Looking up, confusion and hope and fear crossed Peter’s eyes. “But . . . you’re gonna get bored with me, Wade. I’m . . . I’m just a stupid virgin. I don’t know how . . .” he sighed and shook his head, bowing his head so his forehead ran over Wade’s chest as he moved his head. “I don’t know how to keep you interested. Someone better, more knowledgeable, prettier… worth a soldier . . .”

“You’re the prettiest there is, Peter. I . . . I’m not a good man. I’ve killed people . . . I’ve hurt people for money. You deserve someone better.”

“For money, not for pleasure,” Peter said fiercely as if that made all the difference. “You are funny and smart and so damn sexy . . . and I’m . . . yeah . . . and . . .” he sighed in frustration, waving one hand to encompass the whole of himself since he’d lost the power of words, yet again.

Wade leaned down and crashed his lips against Peter’s, effectively backing the journalist up against the sink. The mercenary wrapped one arm around the brunet’s waist and the other hand moved up to tangle itself in his hair. Pulling away, just slightly, Wade breathed, “Please . . . come live with me.”

Peter drew a deep breath, leaning into Wade. He opened his eyes slowly and sighed, running a hand over Wade’s chest. “Okay,” he said sounding defeated. “I’ll come. But you promise to tell me when you find someone else? I . . . I don’t wanna just find out or something. I promise I’ll go quietly when it happens . . .”

“Peter . . . that ain’t gonna happen.” Wade said firmly, “There will never be anyone else. You’re it.”

The youth shook his head. “You think that now, Wade, but you’re gonna find someone who can keep you happy.”

Wade huffed, “Dammit, Baby-Boy. I love you. I’m never going to find anyone else. You’re all I think about . . . even the boxes love you . . . which is a feat in and of itself.” 

“The boxes are a plus,” Peter whispered, not shocked or questioning the odd statement, just accepting it as he had every other odd thing about the older man. “But will they stay happy when you tell them I . . . I don’t . . .” he huffed in frustration and embarrassment, turning red, “I don’t know how . . . to . . .” he dropped his face on Wade’s chest. “And I want to keep you happy, but I’ve never . . . so I . . . and . . .”

“We’ll learn everything together, Peter. I don’t care what you have or have not done,” Wade said softly, “You’re my partner in crime . . . my Spider-Monkey.”

A smile quirked at Peter’s lips. He couldn’t help it; Wade eventually always broke down his self-doubts enough to break through to his humorous side. Slowly, Peter lifted his face. “You’ll get bored trying to teach me about sex, Wade,” he said bluntly, for once getting through his innate shyness. “I warn you . . . I’m totally boring and know nothing.” He flushed again.

“That,” Wade smiled widely, “is a challenge I will accept gladly. I can teach you all the positions . . . all the styles . . . man, we are going to have a lot of fun.”

“You . . . you don’t mind? That I’m a virgin?” Peter sounded actually stunned by that. Every other guy he seemed to know in college seemed obsessed with sex and not being a stupid high schooler virgin.

“No, of course not! The boxes are actually very excited . . . they are already fighting over what we should teach you first.”

“I mean both ways, Wade,” Peter flushed. “I’ve only ever kissed . . . anyone.” He bit his full bottom lip then whispered, “the boxes know that means I . . . I’m a coward and . . . don’t know if I can . . . uh . . . you know . . . down there . . .“

“You’re a virgin. So what . . big deal. Even I was a virgin sometime in my life . . . you learn things. I promise to take care of you and teach you things that will make you feel really . . .” Wade leaned down again to kiss Peter’s lips, “really, good.”

Whimpering, Peter pushed into Wade, returning the kiss eagerly, hands kneading at the mercenary’s strong shoulders.

“We are going to do this . . . together.” Wade breathed against Peter’s lips.

“Right now?” Peter asked breathlessly, a flush rising again as he continued to press into Wade. He blushed harder as his own erection began to fill, pressing into Wade’s hip.

“Whenever you want, Baby-Boy,” Wade growled low, voice filled with need, “We have forever.”

“What if I can’t . . . finish?” Peter asked, dropping a kiss on Wade’s neck.

Groaning, Wade tightened his hold against the brunet’s waist, “Don’t think it’ll be an issue, Baby-Boy,” he said, grinding his hips against Peter’s erection.

Peter groaned in response, his member filling fuller than he’d thought possible. He ground back against Wade, licking the man’s neck and kissing the scar there. “I . . . Wade . . . I . . . yeah,” he breathed, voice vibrating in desire.

“I love you, Peter,” Wade said, nipping at the smaller man’s earlobe. 

“Not as much as I love you,” Peter moaned then flushed at the challenging words he’d spoken without thought. He flushed again. “I mean . . . I love you . . . and . . .” Peter fell silent.

Wade chuckled and sucked on the skin of Peter’s neck, “Let me show you just how much I love you.”

Peter groaned again and practically melted against Wade, clutching him hard by the shoulders. “Wade . . . want you . . . need you . . .” Peter kissed and licked the scars of the mercenary’s neck and the start of his shoulder. He turned his face to nip lightly at a puckered line of scar. “Right now, Wade . . . wanna stay with you forever.”

Wade lifted Peter off the ground with a low growl and carried him back into the bedroom, “Forever starts now.”

****************

Riley looked over at Sam; as soon as they heard what had happened, they had decided to head back right away. “We leave for one night . . . and your partner decides to take on a mass murderer all by himself,” the therapist huffed, pushing himself closer into his boyfriend’s side.

“Now you see why my hair’s going grey,” Sam complained worriedly, gesturing absently to his fully dark head of curls. “He’ll kill me with worry yet. I think he’s Fury’s punishment to me.”

“Bucky isn’t answering his phone . . . any word from Clint or Natasha?” Riley asked, worrying, looking down at his own phone.

As if on cue, Sam’s phone sounded off with a ringtone ‘Devil Went Down to Georgia.’ Sam pulled it out. “That’s Nat now,” he murmured and flicked the phone screen to answer. “Yeah, Sam here.”

“Steve’s stable. Bucky is in there with him now. Idiot’s probably gonna be out for a while, he took one hell of a beating,” Natasha stated. 

“Figures. And the perp? How’s he faring?” Sam asked, voice hard but relief in his eyes.

“Bucky shot Rumlow . . . right through the middle of the eyes with a rifle. Saved Steve’s life.”

Pulling the phone away from his mouth, Sam whistled low then brought the phone back over. “Talk about a self-esteem boost. Hold on. Let me tell Riley.” He pulled the phone away again and turned to his boyfriend. “Steve took a beating and wound up in the hospital, but Bucky showed up and shot Rumlow between the eyes using his rifle . . . apparently saved my dumbass partner.” He watched how Riley reacted, bringing the phone back up to his mouth once more.

“Bucky went back to the house?” Riley’s eyes widened in surprise.

With a shrug, Sam flicked the phone to speaker. “Hey Nat, this shootout was at that house, right?”

“Yeah . . . from what Clint told me . . . Rumlow was gonna release a bunch of photos from Bucky’s rapes onto the media.”

“The bastard took photos?” Sam swore, face crumpling into an intense worry and fierce hatred. “Nothing got sent, right? Bucky won’t be going viral among the sickos right?”

“Oh, yeah . . . you missed it. Rumlow sent Steve photos and video of . . . some real bad stuff . . . up to you two if you want to see it. That’s how he lured Steve to the house . . . he bragged about having taken Bucky again, but the videos were old. Steve had been too upset to realize it, though.” Natasha paused and took a deep breath, “And, no. None of the photos or videos got released . . . Tony made sure that all traces of them were deleted.”

Glancing at his boyfriend, Sam swore softly. “And everyone’s sure Rumlow is dead? And that Rumlow was the one really sending pics and video and stuff, right? I’d hate to find we had another suspect still out there with footage of this twisted mess.”

“Rumlow has a tennis ball sized hole in the back of his head . . . he ain’t coming back from that.” Sounds of a hospital could be heard in the background; Natasha could be heard moving and a soft click of a door shut out all other noise.

Sam sighed in relief and offered Riley a small smile at the news. He privately hoped this might partially alleviate the anger and grief Riley felt over his father’s death. Pulling his boyfriend into a solid hug, Sam asked “Nat, are we going back to the tower, or do you think Steve can handle a couple more visitors?”

“That’s up to you two . . .” Natasha paused and the sound of a door opening could be heard. Clint’s muffled voice said something and the FBI agent made a small hum of agreement. “Actually, sounds like Steve fell back asleep. I’ve been trying to get Bucky to go back to the tower to get some rest . . . but he seems intent on staying. Might need some help with that soon.” 

“So,” Sam sounded slightly amused finally, “you want us to go strong arm Bucky?”

Natasha let out a laugh, “It might come to that . . . he hasn’t left the room. I’m getting a little worried . . . but he seems okay . . . I mean he seems normal?” She let out another laugh, “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“Riley?” Sam looked down at his boyfriend in his arms, still holding the phone so both could speak. “You think you should talk to Bucky?”

“Probably . . . we should make sure he’s okay. And try to convince him to get some sleep . . . he needs to rest, especially after everything that has happened.” Riley said, momentarily forgetting about his own grief over his father’s passing.

“Well, if you two are gonna come . . . now would be a good time. I don’t think any of us will stand a chance while Steve’s awake. He’s on some pretty heavy painkillers so he should be out for a while.” Natasha sounded somewhat distracted, the couple could hear Clint saying something. 

“On our way, Nat. We’ll be about ten minutes.” Sam looked to his boyfriend to see if the man wanted to say anything else.

“You need to rest, too, Natasha.” Riley said, worried about how the stressful situation could be affecting the baby.

Natasha snorted playfully, “Please . . . this is nothing. Once you two get here . . . maybe Clint and I will head out.”

“We will head out,” Clint’s voice came over the phone; he’d apparently leaned over to speak into it. “Hurry up. I missed my nap.”

“I swear . . . you are a five year old.” Natasha groaned and then hung up. 

Sam hung up and sighed. He looked at their driver. “We need to go to the hospital . . . but no rush. They’ve got him sedated.”

The driver nodded and started in the direction of the hospital. Riley looked up at his boyfriend, “After this . . . we need a vacation.” The blond leaned his head on Sam’s shoulder and sighed tiredly. 

“If I wasn’t so damn worried about that pair, I’d say fuck it and take you to the Caribbean right now, Babe,” Sam sighed.

“Never been skiing before . . .” Riley muttered, nuzzling in closer. 

Sam looked at him and smiled. “Or Aspen . . . Vermont? Wyoming?”

“Aspen sounds nice.” The therapist sighed, as if dreaming about the forming vacation.

“Colorado it is. Once we make sure the boys aren’t gonna get themselves in another mess, we pack and go to Colorado.” Sam hugged Riley fiercely, glad to be discussing something so mundane as a vacation after the last year of hell.

“Holdin’ ya to that, Wilson.” Riley smiled and kissed his lover’s lips. 

Sam smiled and kissed him back. Taking a deep breath, he bent and reached into his overnight bag, pulling something out of the side flap. Holding it out, Sam softly asked, “will you be a Wilson, too?”

Gasping quietly, Riley looked down at the beautiful ring nestled in the small, velvet lined box and then back up to Sam. Tears clouded his eyes and the blond nodded, smiling widely. “Yes! Yes, of course!” 

Letting out the breath he’d been holding, Sam smiled and hugged Riley. He slid the platinum band, with the stylized entwined doves embossed on it, on Riley’s finger. “Good. Make an honest man outta me, sweetheart,” he breathed, kissing his fiancee.

“I love you, Sam.” Riley whispered into the kiss. 

“Love you right back, Riley,” Sam breathed, smiling and kissing.

The driver had to clear his throat several times to get their attention when the SUV stopped in front of the hospital. Finally, Sam lifted his head and looked over then chuckled. “We’re here. Now we can rip that pair a new one.”

Riley groaned, “I swear . . . sometimes I feel like you and I are, like, the grandparents of this group. They make me feel old.”

Nuzzling Riley’s neck, Sam whispered, “not grandparents yet . . . but might wanna discuss parents after our vacation.” He slipped from the vehicle and stretched with a groan.

After a few moments to process what Sam had said, Riley shook his head and followed his lover out of the car. Sliding his hand into Sam’s, the blond pulled the detective into the hospital. They quickly found out Steve’s room and weren’t surprised to see Clint and Natasha standing outside the door.

Seeing the pair, Clint strode over to them and held out Steve’s phone. “Not sure if you wanna stomach this, but it might make this situation a lot clearer . . . and Bucky’s entire messed up psyche. Just . . . don’t wanna put it on the big screen. Tony’s gonna regret that for months.”

Riley took the phone and handed it to Sam, sighing, the blond pinched the bridge of his nose. “How bad is it?” The therapist asked. 

Clint shrugged with a soft frown. “Well, you get to see him beg for the abuse and take it,” he answered.

“That’s the only copies left,” Natasha added with a tilt of her chin in the direction of the phone. “Once you guys are done with it . . . make sure you give the phone to Tony so he can erase all of it.” 

“And you sure this ass didn’t hide any backups someone might stumble over during an estate sale or something?” Sam ground out, unsure if he wanted to see Bucky tortured, but willing to watch with Riley if he wanted to view it to understand Bucky’s problems better.

Shrugging, Natasha shook her head, “We tore the house apart looking for any more . . . but the only copies were on Rumlow’s laptop. But it’s honestly hard to say . . . I really hope none of this gets out . . . Bucky - - he might not come back from that.”

“Sick bastard,” Sam murmured. _Who tapes these kinds of things?_

Riley nodded in agreement; he knew he should watch the tapes . . . he should know exactly what Bucky had gone through in that closet. However, the mere thought of seeing a man, whom he’d come to know as a friend, tortured and raped made his stomach churn. The therapist stared at the phone in Sam’s hand, honestly hoping the thing would simply disappear and he wouldn’t be forced to choose between seeing it or not. 

Natasha looked over at Riley, sensing the blond’s dilemma, and frowned, “I’m sure you don’t have to watch it . . . if you have any questions you could ask one of us who’ve seen it. It’s - - It’s a hard thing to unsee.” 

Taking the decision either way out of Riley’s hands, Clint grabbed the phone back from Sam’s hand. “I’ll make the call. Let me have Tony wipe this, unplayed. I’ll tell you what you missed. A picture of Bucky in the closet, followed by another Bucky in the closet, followed by tortured screams, then a picture of him being forced to give head with some screams and other nasty sounds. Finally a video of him begging and Rumlow using a cattle prod where it was never meant to go, and Bucky forced to cum due to electrical current. There, all solved. It’s gonna be wiped.” He pocketed the phone and frowned.

“Jesus,” Riley breathed, running a hand through his hair. “That fucking sicko.”

“Yeah,” Clint nodded. “And the scko is now in the morgue with a perfect bullseye in his forehead. Fitting, I’d say,” Clint responded, wrapping his arm possessively around his pregnant wife.

“Well . . . I think Clint and I are going to head out, if that’s okay?” Natasha said, leaning her head against her husband’s shoulder. Truth be told, her feet and back ached and she wanted nothing more than to soak in the bathtub.

Sam nodded. “You guys go. We got this.” His voice remained soft, trying to come to terms with just how sick Steve’s old comrade had been. He slid his arm protectively around Riley. “Wanna go see Bucky and Steve’s sleeping body?”

Riley nodded, “yeah.”

“Wait,” Sam said suddenly. “Did Bucky have to see those pictures and stuff?”

“Nah,” Clint assured them. “He showed up as it finished. Just got to see a still shot. He went right into _‘find and protect Steve’_ mode.” The stocky blond turned his red-haired wife and led her down the hall, saying, “Nat? We’ve had a hell of a messed up first month. Wanna start over? Get remarried, do the whole honeymoon and shit?”

“If we’re still together in a year . . . we’ll get remarried.” Natasha said.

Clint slid his hand gently over her still flat abdomen. “Deal,” he kissed her neck, right on the pulse point.

**********

Riley took a deep breath and looked up at Sam, “Ready to do this?”

“Yeah. Let’s go see them.” Sam gave Riley a small encouraging squeeze.

The couple entered the room quietly to avoid waking Steve, whose face was nearly unrecognizable under the bruising and both forearms wrapped heavily in white bandages.

Bucky’s head shot up immediately, hyper vigilant as always. He looked over, a slight frown on his face. His right hand carefully held Steve’s hand, thumb running over the knuckles, careful of the bruises and cuts that covered his battered boyfriend. Seeing who showed up, Bucky’s tense shoulders relaxed and he offered a small smile which dropped immediately as he looked back at Steve.

“Hey, Bucky,” Riley whispered, inching closer to his patient. 

The brunet reporter looked up again. “Hey, Riley.” His eyes scanned his therapist and friend then he added, “beautiful ring. Congratulations?”

“Thank you,” Riley smiled looking down at his left hand; looking back at Steve, he asked, “how is he doing?”

“He’s fine, actually. Just looks bad. The doctor says he’ll need to stay overnight for observation, but he’s tougher than they expected.” Bucky snorted softly. “I could have told him he was hard-headed.”

“How are you doing, Bucky?” Riley asked softly.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky turned to look at the smaller blond. “Not sure. I feel sick to my stomach and light headed? Like I’m sure this is just some sick fantasy I’ve let take over and I’ll wake up back at the hospital?”

Riley nodded and slipped his hand from Sam’s to step closer to Bucky. He placed a hand on the journalist’s shoulder, causing Bucky to jump, “What you did was very brave, Bucky. You saved him. You guys are safe now.” 

“Yeah,” the journalist replied softly, looking down at Steve then back at Riley. “I get that. Really, I do. And it felt damn good to be the one to take him down. But I still can’t help feeling sick and worried and like it’s gonna happen again . . . and maybe a little,” he flushed and hung his head, “like I didn’t want it to end?”

“What lies ahead is unknown territory . . . that’s scary,” Riley offered with a small, reassuring smile.

“Exactly!” Bucky looked back at the therapist and nodded, eyes holding a small amount of relief, but no smile touched his features.

“But you have Steve . . . you have your friends. We’ll all be here throughout everything. I know it’s scary but we’ll get through it,” Riley said, eyes scanning Steve’s unconscious body again. 

Letting out a small, bitter laugh, Bucky said, “hey, at least I know Steve won’t leave me over this, right? We’ve had enough doubt about that to last us a lifetime . . . we’re starting to actually communicate it out, you know?” Bucky stroked Steve’s hand again, ever careful with his still recovering right hand, though his limb didn’t shake or curl up. “Just glad he knows it . . . right?”

“You two still have a lot to get through . . . but you’re both so stubborn.” Riley laughed, “Once you two put your mind to something . . . it’s impossible to change it. And I’ll tell ya one thing . . . Steve is completely in love with you, and I know you love him. That’ll be enough for you two to overcome anything.” 

“Isn’t it odd that just a month ago, we discussed how Steve might be the wrong one for me? And now, I know I can’t live without him.” Bucky looked back at his lover.

Riley nodded and sighed softly, “I know you don’t wanna leave him . . . but you need to get some rest, Bucky. You look like you’re about to pass out.” 

The brunet snorted, chuckling at last. He lifted amused grey-blue eyes and nodded his chin towards the other bed in the room. “I’ve been told I can sleep there when I want, actually. Unless you think it’s unhealthy for me to stay while he’s here?”

“You need to take some time, Buck. Get a shower and regroup. Steve will still be here when you get back . . . probably still be asleep, too.” Riley pushed again; Bucky really did look like he could use a breather. 

Drawing a deep breath, Bucky slowly nodded. “Okay . . .” he acquiesced rather quickly in fact. “I . . . I can have them alert me if something changes . . . and be here when he’s released, right?” Bucky asked as if he already knew the answers but needed them confirmed for him.

“Yes, of course.” Riley smiled. 

“How about we watch him for a couple hours while you go get cleaned up and some sleep time. We’ll call Tony to come pace us. Fair enough?” Sam offered.

With a snort, Bucky slowly pushed to his feet. He stretched, cracking his spine all the way down since he’d been sitting cramped for several hours. “Yeah, won’t Tony love that? He’s all about how he’s gonna build Steve some kind of body armor or shield or something. Give him a chance to talk to Steve without Steve being able to respond . . . Tony’s favorite activity.” The reporter looked at Riley and Sam. “I’ll try not to freak out in a couple hours when I’ve wound down and it all hits me, you know?”

“I can head back to the tower with you . . . if you want?” Riley offered.

“Up to you, Riley,” Bucky said, but his eyes looked genuinely thankful at the offer. “But I draw the line at sharing the shower. Feeling a bit selfish today.”

Riley snorted and smiled at Bucky before looking up at Sam, “You think you’ll be okay watching your partner for a few hours?”

“Why not? Been doing it for the past half-dozen years or what,” Sam laughed softly. He immediately slid into Bucky’s seat to prevent the reporter changing his mind.

Bucky frowned but let him, stepping over to Steve’s head. He carefully kissed Steve’s shoulder, despite the bandage. “I’ll see you tomorrow, love,” he whispered. Finally, he turned and looked to his therapist. “Ready.”

“Yeah,” Riley leaned down to give his fiancee a quick kiss. “See ya in a few, Sam. I love you.” 

************

Tony looked up at the sound of the elevator opening. He crowed happily “Bucky Bear! Riles! Welcome home.” After a pause, the inventor frowned, still staring behind them. “No pidgeon?”

“Sam’s with Steve.” Riley said as they stepped out of the elevator. 

“Ah,” Tony nodded. “I gotta go see the guy . . . bring him some whiskey or something. That’s what you do for sick people, right?” He turned back to the gadget he was fixing,

Rolling his eyes, Bucky called, “you’ve got an appointment to sit with him in a couple hours.” He then headed towards his own room, tugging his shirt over his head as he walked.

Riley watched as Bucky left and waited until the reporter had gone into his room to say, “JARVIS, could you alert me if Bucky gets too upset?”

“Yes, Doctor?” the AI replied. “I will alert you immediately of any stress I note. However, his heart rate and perspiration are normal at this moment.

“Good,” Riley nodded, “I’ll be in my room . . . gonna try and sneak in a few hours of sleep,” The blond therapist said and then walked into his room, shutting the door softly behind him.

“Doctor?” JARVIS said quietly, “are you sure you wish to be alone?”

After the door shut, Riley sighed and nodded, “Yeah, J. I’m fine. Thank you, though. I need time to think.” 

“Very good, sir,” the AI replied.

As the conversation between the AI and his therapist occurred, Bucky walked into his room. He rooted through the drawers to find some pajamas then headed into the bathroom. He quickly started the water and climbed into the shower, sighing in relief at the hot pulsing. Bucy didn’t linger, though; he quickly bathed and stepped out, grabbing a towel to dry off. Wrapping the cloth around his hips, Bucky headed to the sink and wiped off the condensation from the mirror. Carefully, slowly, the brunet began to shave, using his metallic left hand to control the safety razor.

Wade, having heard the shower shut off from Bucky’s door, waited a few more moments before carefully knocking on the wooden surface. “Bucky?” He called out. 

“Yeah?” Bucky called back sounding calm but distracted. “C’mon in.”

Wade nodded to himself and stepped inside the room; the mercenary could feel the warm, moist air from Bucky’s shower. “Heya, Sarge. There - - There’s something I been meaning - - well not for a while . . . but-”

Meeting Wade’s eyes in the mirror, Bucky didn’t change expressions since he was still shaving. Carefully, he asked “what’s wrong? What can I help with?”

Wade swallowed, “Well . . . I uh - - I wanted to ask a favor of you - - well, not a favor but - - I did have a question and I guess I should let you get to shavin’ - - I can ask ya later.”

Finally straightening and turning, hand with the razor paused but no longer on his skin, Bucky looked over at his oldest friend, amused. “You sound like Peter. What can I help with?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, almost self-consciously, Wade looked down at the floor, “Well . . . see, ya don’t have to - - but I was wonderin’ . . . because I can’t do it on my own - - I ain’t smart - -”

“Wade, shut up.” Bucky watched him.

Wade snapped his jaw shut and laughed nervously, his eyes rose to meet with Bucky’s.

Once his friend had fallen silent, Bucky slowly asked. “What is the one question you want to ask. Nothing else, just one question?” Sometimes he’d had to focus other people in interviews; apparently, he needed to do it with friends, too, occasionally.

“Um . . . well, I was wonderin’ if you would want to help me run Fred’s range? Like I said . . . I ain’t smart enough to do the - -” Wade stopped suddenly when Bucky cut in.

Bucky lifted his right hand to shut his friend up. “One question was all, Wade. Now it’s my turn.” He studied his friend then said “yes. I’ll help run Fred’s. Now, what else did you want?” He smiled softly at his friend, personally pleased to be able to help honor Fred’s memory.

Beaming, Wade had to fight the urge to wrap his arms around his friend. “Really?! You’ll help? Oh . . . good because Peter and I got some ideas . . . and with you helpin’ things will start to look up . . . I don’t wanna mess this up, ya know?” Wade was practically bouncing with excitement. 

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky answered. “Did you see the article I wanted to publish? I’ve got some ideas, too, if that’s okay?” He offered a smile.

“Okay? That’s great!” Wade smiled, “We’ll honor Fred, he’ll be proud of what we’ll accomplish.”

With a nod, the brunet turned back to the mirror and began carefully shaving again. “He put in the backbone of the business, and the ideals for helping trauma victims, especially vets.We get the easy part of helping make it viable and reach out to even more people.” Bucky’s eyes flicked to Wade’s in the mirror.

“Yeah,” Wade nodded in agreement, “Can I tell ya something, Sarge?”

“Sure,” Bucky pulled the razor away so he could concentrate on his friend. “What is it?” He looked over, wondering if Wade would also mention his breakthrough with the house and rifle . . . like everyone else seemed to be obsessed with, while Bucky merely wanted to concentrate on Steve.

“You’re a great pal,” Wade started, “I mean . . . after the IED you always made sure to check up on me . . . even after what happened to you . . . you still made time to see me. You never gave up on me, even when ya really should’ve,” the mercenary shrugged.

Bucky snorted. “I think I can determine who I should and shouldn’t give up on. And you certainly were worth not giving up on, Wade.”

“What I mean is . . . that I couldn’t ask for a better friend. And I’m glad you found Steve and that everything worked out between you two. You deserve a happily ever after . . . and I think you and Steve are gonna have that.” Wade smiled at his oldest friend, “You’re a great man, Bucky.”

Bucky grinned and stepped over to Wade, careful of the razor and ignoring the fact that he only wore a towel. The brunet hugged the scarred, bald man. “Yeah, you’re pretty damn good, too, Wade. I think Peter’s good for you.”

Wade wrapped his arms around his friend tightly before letting go, “Thanks . . . that kid . . . he makes me feel like I can be good, ya know? I wanna be a better man for him.” 

“And you have been, Wade.” Bucky stepped back with a soft smile. “Just don’t let his self-doubts interfere with you guys. He’s as nervous as you. You guys gotta learn together, support each other. Don’t let your fear take him away from you. You should see the love in his eyes when he’s staring at you.”

The mercenary blushed, looking down; he scuffed his boots on the floor sheepishly. Clearing his throat, Wade looked up and rubbed the back of his neck, “I . . . I don’t know about that but . . . Peter’s something special. What we have . . . it ain’t like anything I’ve had before.” 

***********

Finishing up with his shave, Bucky headed back into his room and paused. He took a deep breath, shaking as he looked towards the closet. As long as that torture chamber yawned open, he couldn’t feel at ease. Slowly, he approached, reached out a shaking hand, and slammed the door shut. The reporter scuttled backwards with a gasp and hugged himself, watching the door with large eyes, the images from mere hours ago playing through his mind: Steve beaten and lying in a very different closet at the hands of a madman.

Riley’s continuing advice welled up and Bucky took a deep breath, beginning to count out loud, voice shaking and soft. “One . . . two . . . three . . .” Calm began to come over him and he finally found he was able to turn his back on the closet. Continuing to breathe, now counting in his head, Bucky pulled out a white, long-sleeved henley and tan-colored skinny jeans. Digging out a pair of white silk boxers, the reporter dressed in the soothingly pure colors, a feeling of cleanliness coming over him.

Slipping his bare feet into a pair of worn dock shoes, Bucky looked up at the mirror on his bedroom wall. Careful not to catch his hair in the shifting plates of his prosthetic, he moussed his hair into his now-typical off the head style. Finally content with his appearance, flushing slightly at the thought that he might actually be _primping_ for Steve, Bucky turned from the the mirror and hurried out of the bedroom. He was supposed to be sleeping, but he felt too keyed up so he slipped onto a couch in the common room. Clint sat on another couch, television playing mutely, closed captions scrolling across the screen as the deaf man barely acknowledged the brunet's presence.

Content to be ignored, pretty much, Bucky began watching the television and reading the closed captions, letting himself sink further and further down until, eventually, he lay stretched across the couch. Eyes sliding shut in exhaustion, Bucky was unaware when Clint glanced over with a smirk for the drowsing man.

“Buck,” Riley cooed gently, trying to wake the sleeping man. 

Eyes opened, Bucky stretched, mildly surprised when he realized he had slept without nightmares. “Riley?” He asked, voice fuzzy from the hours he’d napped.

“Visiting hours have started again and Steve’s a little more coherent this morning.” Riley reported with a small smile. 

“Steve!” Bucky sat up and groaned. “Remind me never to sleep on a couch again . . . even Tony’s couches!” His hand slid to the back of his neck, kneading, as he rose to his feet.

“Done,” Riley nodded with a smirk, “C’mon let’s get back to the hospital.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, following his friend and therapist from the common room to the blue elevator.

“Steve’ll like the outfit.” Riley commented absentmindedly as he pushed the button to shut the elevator doors. 

Glancing down at himself, Bucky shrugged, a bit self-conscious. “I put it on because I wanted to feel . . . lighter? You know?” He smoothed down the henley.

Nodding, Riley smiled, “Yeah, it looks good.” 

“Yeah?” the brunet smiled at the shorter blond. “Good,” he said softly.

They made it to the garage where Happy already waited with a car to take the two men to the hospital. Sliding into the backseat with a smile for the bodyguard, Bucky looked at Riley. “How long was he awake? Did he ask for me?”

Riley looked over at Bucky, “Sam said that he just woke up about thirty minutes ago. He’s a lot more lucid, though. He didn’t say if he was asking for you or not. I’m sure he’s anxious though . . . seeing those videos couldn’t have been easy for him.” 

“Did you see the videos, Riley?” Bucky asked, voice softer, a flush creeping up his neck.

Shaking his head softly, Riley frowned, “No . . . uh - - Clint told Sam and me the basics of what happened. I’m sorry, Bucky, really.” 

Running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, wincing more for the conversation than the idea that he’d forgotten to re-do his hair after sleeping, Bucky sighed. “I . . . I don’t know exactly what Steve had to see. I can’t really remember everything.” He looked as miserable as he felt. “But, I’ll never forget what he did to Steve,” the brunet’s voice dropped into a menacing growl, eyes hardening.

“Hey,” Riley said softly, laying a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, “Steve’s gonna be fine. Rumlow is gone. Fisk is gonna go away for a long time. You and Steve will be able to move on with your lives . . . pick up from where you left off almost a year ago.” 

“Before my time with Crossbones or after?” Bucky asked, a bitter note to his voice and he looked out the window, beginning to count to himself in a fierce whisper, trying to control the anger as much as he’d controlled the fear earlier.

“Steve loves you, Bucky. I’ve never seen anyone look at someone the way he looks at you. You two will get past what happened.” Riley said encouragingly. 

At the blond’s words, Bucky froze, voice stopping completely. Slowly, the brunet turned to look at his friend. “What did you just say?” His voice came out strangled, hopeful.

“Uh - - that Steve loves you?” Riley looked slightly confused.

“No,” Bucky leaned closer, “the part about him looking at me?” Bucky held his breath, eyes searching.

Riley smiled softly, “I’ve never seen anyone look at someone the way Steve looks at you, Bucky.”

Mind going back to his recent conversation to his very nervous friend, Wade, about a certain doe-eyed man deeply in love with the scarred merc, Bucky sank back on his side of the car. A smile spread slowly across his face as he recalled the words, the idea, and replaced the images of Peter and Wade with Steve and himself. “He does?” Bucky sounded happy, breathless.

Smiling wider, Riley nodded and squeezed Bucky’s shoulder with a loving smile, “Yeah, Buck.”

“Even broken? Steve . . . loves me,” Bucky said it like a prayer, wrapping his arms around himself, holding in the happiness as if afraid it might burst out and fly away - - and he didn’t want this to fly away at all.

“You’re not broken, Bucky. Not at all. You saved Steve.” Riley reassured. 

“Oh yes I was, Riley,” Bucky countered. “Rumlow broke me bad. I hit the bottom.” He met the other man’s eyes, still smiling, “but Steve’s been putting me back together, hasn’t he? I really didn’t notice. Wade and you and Tony have helped, but Steve . . . Steve’s been the one that has pasted each little crack until I can see the picture again. I’m never gonna be who I was,” he took a breath slowly, “but it’s gonna be okay to be the new me, the me Steve still loves.” And for the first time in months, Bucky really, at least for the moment, understood his own worth.

Happy cleared his throat from the front, “We’re here.”

Without waiting for the guard to open the door, as soon as the car stopped Bucky unbelted and bound out of the SUV. He barely waited for Riley, excitement thrumming through his entire body, eyes alert and eager. And for the first time ever, Riley got to see Bucky for who he had been once. The reporter had a long road to go, and would face many setbacks, but someone had finally clicked.

He threw a smile at his therapist. “You are slow!” he called happily. “I can run ahead if you want?”

Riley grumbled with a small smirk, “Oh, please . . . don’t wait for me!”

“Last chance or I’m taking you up on that.” Bucky paused and grinned at the blond.

“Go see your boy. I’ll meet you up there!” Riley called as he stepped onto the curb. 

Without further word, Bucky ran into the hospital, ducking around a large burly EMT he apparently hadn’t seen in his excitement.

“I’m too old for this shit,” Riley grumped, shaking his head fondly as he walked into the hospital, Bucky nowhere in sight. 

Not five minutes passed before the reporter made it to the room his lover had been assigned the day before. "Steve?" he kept his voice respectfully controlled, glancing inside. He seemed to almost bounce in his happiness.

Steve’s head snapped to the door, sitting up in his raised bed, he gave his lover a beaming smile, ignoring his sore body. “Bucky!” 

The brunet slid into a chair right next to the bed and reached out a careful hand to stroke Steve’s cheek. “Heya, Stevie. Feeling a bit better?”

“Feeling loads better now that you’re here. I like the outfit . . . very . . . light?” Steve bright blue eyes danced with happiness at the sight of his boyfriend.

“That was the idea, actually. I was sick of dark and . . . so I went for light.” He carefully lifted Steve’s hand to his lips and kissed around the bruises gently. “I love you,” he confessed impulsively.

Steve smiled brightly, “I love you, too, Bucky.” 

“When do I get to bring you home and practice my bed bath skills?” Bucky teased, kissing again.

Chuckling, a bright red flush running down his neck, Steve shook his head, “The doctor’s think I’ll be here for at least five days . . . most likely closer to a week.” 

“Well,” Bucky let go of Steve’s hand and began pushing up his sleeves, “I guess I’ll have to start practicing right here,” he teased, standing. Leaning over, he planted both hands carefully on either side of Steve’s head and traced his lips over his boyfriend’s, eyes closing as he breathed in the scent of antiseptic and Steve, pure Steve.

Moaning softly, Steve took in the beautiful sight of his lover, “You’re so beautiful, Buck. So, so beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful, too,” he breathed, steel-blue eyes opening. “I had a breakthrough today, Steve.” He grinned, proudly, and kissed again.

“Oh, yeah?” Steve looked up at Bucky with intrigued eyes. “What about?” 

“Well, about us. You and me.” Bucky kissed a third time, still leaning over his boyfriend. “I realized that you love me, broken or not.”

“I’ll always love you, Bucky.” Steve whispered, eyes searching his boyfriend’s face. Steve leaned up, ignoring his injuries to press his lips against the brunet’s.

After a long kiss, Bucky pulled back slightly. “Yeah, I know that, Steve, but I always felt I didn’t deserve it because of what happened, what I’ve become. But . . . I realized that you love me anyway. That what I’ve become isn’t going to hold us back.” He shifted onto his left arm, lifting the right and carefully stroking Steve’s hair, his cheek. “That you can help me put myself back together again . . . and, even more, you want to. Because you love me!” Grey-blue eyes shone with absolute happiness and confidence. He’d let his tomorrows be met tomorrow; today, he was certain of his world.


	17. Epilogue

Drawing a deep breath, smiling calmly, Bucky fastened his dark blue cumberbund smoothly over his narrow hips, glancing into the mirror to see how it fit over the off-white tuxedo he wore. Beside him Natasha sat finishing up her makeup, hair already piled up in a complicated braid laced with blue and white ribbons. He reached for his dark blue tie and glanced down at the redhead, his best friend.

“Nat? Need help into your dress?” He offered, gesturing with his chin towards the long dark blue gown trimmed with off-white.

Looking at her friend through the mirror as she applied a layer of lipstick, she smiled happily. “No, I think I got it. How’s Wade doing? Is he even dressed yet?” 

Glancing to the doorway leading to the other room, Bucky smiled. “I’ll check,” he assured her, tie held loosely in his right hand. This time, a year later, things went much different than before as Bucky strode past the half-open curtain and grinned at the sight of his oldest friend. “Wade? Nat wondered if you were dressed yet,” he called, a smile in his voice.

Wade fumbled with his tie, his collar askew, “Huh?” The mercenary cursed under his breath and began working at the stubborn fabric again. 

With a soft chuckle, Bucky walked over and reached out, smoothing the collar and untying to mess Wade had made of his tie. “S’okay. I can tie these things now.” He began to carefully knot the off-white bowtie. “You’d think it was you walking down the aisle today instead of just standing there looking pretty.”

Snorting, Wade shook his head softly, “Never been a fan of monkey suits, Sarge.”

“But you are a fan of _spider monkeys_ ,” Bucky teased his friend.

Grinning wildly, Wade sighed happily, “Yeah . . . good thing the kid is excellent with a camera, too!” 

“If you gave him a gun, he might be a real true shot in a few months.” Bucky stepped back and nodded. He slid his own tie around his neck and began to walk to a mirror so he could see what he was doing. He wanted to look his best. The brunet glanced over as the curtained door, smiling at the image in his mind of Natasha walking down the aisle on his arm once more. They might not be a couple, but he had to admit, they would look _good_ together.  
Walking into the room, heels clicking against the hardwood, Natasha looked over at the two men, fully dressed in her floor-length blue and white gown. As she put in her earrings, she grinned at Bucky again, “You almost ready? You look great.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, taking his jacket from where it hung on the chair and slipping into it. “Won’t make you late, Nat, promise,” he laughed. “And,” he turned with a serious look but still seeming relaxed, “I already took my anxiety meds so I won’t freak out during the ceremony.”

Natasha nodded and straightened, smoothing her hands down the fabric of her dress. One would never be able to tell that she’d just given birth a little over three months ago. 

“Think Riley’s okay with your daughter?” Bucky asked, glancing towards the third room set aside for the small group. “I mean, we could always re-arrange things, like you suggested?” He didn’t add, _‘when you were panicking just after the birth.’_

Taking a deep breath, Natasha shook her head, “No, I’m sure Riley can handle Ana for a few hours. It’s just for the ceremony and they’re joining us for the reception.” 

Nodding, Bucky took a breath and straightened, letting his hands spread at his sides to demonstrate the full effect of his off-white tuxedo with dark blue trim. “So, presentable?”

“You look hot, Bucky. I know that a certain blond will love it,” Natasha said with a quick wink. 

“Yeah, but I trust _your_ fashion sense, not his,” Bucky shot back, grinning, eyes lit up at any mention of his lover.

“We did do good picking the color scheme, didn’t we?” Natasha nodded in approval.

“Yeah,” Bucky’s voice softened. “Not that I had a problem with maroon and grey, mind, but . . . somehow this seemed more fairytale?” Bucky winked. “I think I hear the opening music, Nat. Ready?” Bucky turned and offered his arm to the beautiful redhead.

Linking her arm through Bucky’s, Natasha smiled lovingly at her best friend, “Here we go again.”

Nodding, Bucky guided her towards the door leading to the main room.

**********

Sam finished tying Clint’s tie, smiling widely. “Steve? Need help?” He smoothed his hands down the stocky blond’s outfit, the gold band he wore glinting in the light.

Hands shaking slightly, Steve cleared his throat and nodded, flushing, “I . . . yeah? I can never get these damn ties right.”

Nodding, Sam turned and began to retie his partner’s dark blue tie. “Were you this nervous the last two times you had to stand up there, Steve?”

“No,” Steve admitted honestly; he watched as Sam’s fingers expertly worked his tie. “No, definitely not.”

Laughing softly, Sam shook his head, glancing over to his own husband who sat feeding the infant, a closed door separating them from the other party getting ready. “Well, third time’s the charm, right? You should be old hat at this. Just stand there and smile and things will get better, right?”

Clint snorted, “yeah, sure. Sounds wonderful.” The man looked over at his daughter in the therapist’s arms. “You sure this is okay with you Riley? I mean, you earned a place up there . . .”

Riley shrugged, looking down at the baby in his arms as she sucked on the bottle he held with his free hand. “I love Ana. Sam keeps telling me I can’t steal her . . . something about it being illegal.”

Sam barked a laughed and shook his head. “I think my exact words were _‘if you steal her, her scary FBI mom will hunt you down and skin you’_ ,” he corrected. Turning back to his partner, Sam reached for the off-white jacket and offered it to Steve. “Put this on, big guy. It’s almost time to go stand in front of everyone and watch Nat traipse down the aisle.”

Taking the jacket from Sam, Steve released a deep breath and nodded. “Right . . . yeah.” The detective slid his arms through the sleeves and smoothed down the front. “Is it okay?” 

“Gorgeous,” Clint told him with a grin. “Now quit preening. I keep telling you this is no big deal. It’s the rest of the month that’s going to be important.” The shorter blond grabbed Steve’s arm and pushed him from the room, Sam trailing behind. “C’mon, let’s get in our spot before that music starts.”

Sam laughed again, “a month long honeymoon sound entirely decadent, Clint!”

With a smirk, Clint glanced at Sam, “Nat insisted on purchasing an entire month for it. Who was I to argue?”

Steve let himself be lead into the church, he looked around the room trying to make sure everything was perfect. 

“Relax,” Clint whispered in his ear. “Nothing’s out of place. If it was, Nat would have fixed it by now. She’s always on these things.” Clint stepped up to the justice of the priest and offered the man a smile, letting Steve go as Sam slipped into a seat by his just settling husband.

The music began.

At the back of the room, the door swung open, revealing the beautifully dressed couple, Nat on Bucky’s arm. Slowly, calmly, the pair made their way down the makeshift aisle and to the front of the room. Finally, they stood before the justice of peace, Bucky smiling calmly, his eyes on the gorgeous figure of Steve dressed in the same off-white and dark blue.

Steve smiled back at his lover, having to blink back the happy tears that burned in his eyes as he took in the beautiful sight of Bucky. 

Clearing his throat, the justice of the peace asked, “and who will give this person into the care of this man?”

Clint smiled at Nat and surreptitiously elbowed Steve’s back.

“I, Natasha Barton-Romanov, give James Barnes away to be wed.” Natasha smiled sweetly at the justice of the peace then she turned the smile to her best friend. She looked over at Steve and unwrapped her arm from Bucky’s. She passed over the brunet’s hand to Steve.

Not taking his eyes off his lover, Steve took Bucky’s hand from Natasha with a teary smile. 

“I love you, Stevie,” Bucky said, despite the formalities. He gladly held his lover's hands, grey-blue eyes meeting vivid blue. “I’ll love you till the end of the line.”

“Till the end of the line, Buck,” Steve repeated on a breath.


End file.
